Chuck vs the Sound of Music II
by quistie64
Summary: The code nerd, the spy and their seven children are back, navigating life through a revolving door of spies, friends and family while searching for Frost and Orion. Don't let the word count discourage you from giving it a try. It's shorter than "War and Peace" and has a lot less Russians. COMPLETE.
1. It's a Small Spy World

**A/N: **Welcome to the mildly anticipated sequel to _Chuck vs. the Sound of Music_. If you haven't read the first story, I would strongly suggest that you do so before you read this one. It'll make a lot more sense. Otherwise, you'll spend a good amount of time mumbling to yourself, "Who _are_ all these _kids!_"

From the bottom of my heart, I would like to thank each and every one of you who read, reviewed and/or voted for _Chuck vs. the Sound of Music_ for the Awesome Awards. In case you didn't know, I'm both excited and humbled to let you know that it won three awards: the Chuck, the Sarah and the Ellie. I'm still pretty amazed that it won. So, thank you all.

I'd also like to thank **AgentInWaiting**, beta extraordinaire, for working his magic, as always, on this chapter.

A little information for you before we launch off on this adventure together. Unlike the first story, there won't be any song lyric mutila… er, changes. However, each chapter will have a reference to music of some sort, so keep your eyes peeled.

Finally, I don't own _Chuck_ or _The Sound of Music _(I have the DVDs, but you know what I mean).

**Chapter 1 – It's a Small Spy World**

Sarah Walker Bartowski waited patiently at the counter of Mack's Knife Shop in the Beaver Creek village. Mack Jones, the store's owner, had his back to her as he meticulously polished each knife in turn. He clearly adored working with Sarah's blades and reveled in the theatrics of presenting them to her when she came to pick them up.

The bell on the shop door jingled, announcing the arrival of a new customer. Cold air rushed in as the door opened. Without turning, Sarah knew the customer was a woman as the frigid air that had blown in was infused with perfume. It was a vaguely familiar scent, she realized.

With a flourish, Mr. Jones presented Sarah's knives to her on a tray lined with purple velvet. "Here you are, Mrs. Bartowski. Your knives sharpened and honed to your exact specifications."

Light flashed off each blade. "Mr. Jones, I think you've outdone yourself this time," Sarah said appreciatively. She picked up one of the blades and examined it. With her highly trained eye, she could see that it was wickedly sharp.

The customer behind her turned sharply toward her when she spoke. Feeling the movement, Sarah's whole body tensed and her grip on the knife tightened.

"Sarah? Sarah Walker?" a woman's voice said in surprise.

Her breath caught and her eyes grew round with shock. "Carina?" she said as she whirled around.

Carina raised her hands as if surrendering, eyeing the knife pointed at her. "Hey, there, Sarah. I really don't want a impromptu appendectomy."

Sarah glanced down at the knife in her hand, grinned sheepishly and placed it back on the tray. Now that she was ostensibly weapon-free, she gave her friend a quick hug. "Carina, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Did I just hear him call you 'Mrs.'? What the hell, Walker?" Carina hissed. "Are you on a —"

"We have a lot to catch up on," Sarah said, cutting her off and giving her a "stop talking" glare. "Let me pay Mr. Jones. Then we can go somewhere and chat."

Sarah turned back to Mr. Jones who stood staring slack jawed at the two gorgeous women gracing his little knife shop. Sarah had to smirk when she saw the look on the man's face. He looked like he had died and gone to heaven.

"Here you go, Mr. Jones," Sarah said, laying down several crisp twenty dollar bills on the counter. "Keep the change."

He nodded slowly, his mouth still agape and his eyes never leaving the auburn haired Drug Enforcement Agency agent. _Some things never change,_ Sarah thought to herself with amusement. Mr. Jones began to absently place the knives in the holster, but he was clearly distracted. Sarah didn't want the poor man to accidently slice off a finger, so she took over and carefully put them away.

"Thank you, Mr. Jones," Sarah said as she grabbed Carina's arm and hustled her out the door. The cold smacked her in the face as small flakes of snow flurried around them. "Come on," Sarah said, clamping her hand over Carina's wrist and pulling her through the outdoor shopping area. "There's a coffee place right over here."

Neither spoke until they sat across from each other at a small table, both warming their hands on the outsides of the hot coffee mugs. "Walker, what the hell — "

Sarah put up a finger, asking her friend to wait. She took out her phone, quickly typed a text with her thumbs and hit "send." Before Carina could speak again, Sarah's phone buzzed. As she read the response text, her face softened and she smiled slightly. Her smile widened as she typed and sent another short message. Laying the phone on the table, she returned her hands to the outside of the mug and said calmly, "So, what brings you to Beaver Creek?"

"_Me?"_ Carina shout whispered, her eyes flashing. "Cut the crap, Sarah. What the hell is going on? What are _you_ doing here? Spill!"

Sarah said nothing as she lifted her coffee mug to take a sip. She merely watched Carina's eyes grow wide as they had traveled from Sarah's face to the ring finger of her left hand and then back to her face. The blue fire that had blazed in her friend's eyes a moment before dimmed. They grew round with shock and her mouth dropped open. She leaned back in her chair and stared at Sarah.

"Carina, blink," she said with a snicker.

"Those aren't real," the other woman stated firmly, eyeing the diamond engagement ring and the gold wedding band. "You're undercover, just pretending to be married. This is all a mission."

Sarah's only response was a crooked eyebrow.

"So this _is_ a mission! You're pretending to be married? That's spicy! Is he a hunk? Come on, Walker. I want details." She leaned forward and whispered, "I won't tell anyone."

Sarah felt kind of bad for her friend. This was going to be a pretty big shock. She shook her head slowly. "No, I'm not on a mission. There's no pretending."

Carina looked like she could have fallen out of her chair. "You're really _married?_" her voice sounding a bit horrified.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Carina. It's not a death sentence." Her left thumb absently fiddled with the rings. "It was a mission that brought me here, though. I was tasked to protect an important asset who lives here in Beaver Creek." She looked directly into Carina's eyes. "I fell in love with him," she said simply. She shrugged and continued, "He's the most wonderful man I've ever met and he loves me. And I love him," she repeated. "I knew I could never leave him or his family, no matter what, so I said yes when he asked me to marry him."

Carina seemed unconvinced. "There's got to be more to it than that. " She lurched forward and asked, "Is he rich?"

"Yes, but that's not why –"

"Is he handsome?"

"Yes, but that's –"

"Is he good in –"

"Carina!" Sarah hissed as she frantically looked around, checking for eavesdroppers.

"Answer the question, Walker. You know I won't let up until you tell me."

"Yes, he is. Very, very good in fact," Sarah finally replied, a blush staining her cheeks. "But that's not why I married him."

Carina gave her friend a puzzled glance. "You didn't marry him because rich, handsome, and great in the sack? What else is there?"

"I married him because he's… He's Chuck."

"He's… Chuck," the Carina repeated, an air of incredulousness settling around her. "Boy Walker, you do have it bad." She stared at Sarah for a moment and then something occurred to her. "Wait!" she said in a fierce whisper. "You said he has a family. Did you bust up his marriage? Were you like those nannies who hook up with the married dads?"

"What? No!" she cried with a frown. "Ew! No! I would never do that! He wasn't married."

"But you just said he has a — "

Sarah held up a hand, stopping her friend. "Let me start from the beginning. Chuck is a — "

"Chuck. Who would name their kid that?" Carina snarked.

"Yes, his name is Chuck and I think it's a wonderful name. Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Fine. Continue."

"Chuck is a software programmer and designer for the government. He was working on an incredibly important project. Because of that project, he was targeted by a rogue organization that wanted to turn him to work for them. To do that, they inserted a mole into his personal life. The mole was a direct threat him and his family, so the Agency sent me in undercover to protect them and terminate the threat."

"So, you were undercover as his girlfriend?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, his nanny."

"_You_ were sent in as a _nanny_?" Carina laughed. "How many kids does he have? Two? Three?" She took a sip of her coffee and set the mug back on the table.

Sarah paused for full effect. She knew this was a doozy. Giving her friend a sly look, she answered in a matter-of-fact tone, "Seven."

_And there it is_, she thought as Carina's face registered a humorous succession of emotions: shock, confusion, repulsion and finally disbelief. Carina crossed her arms and squinted, "I don't believe you. You're making this up."

Sarah chuckled and shook her head. "I promise you, I'm not." She sobered. "The threat to Chuck and the kids was real. We exposed the mole." Her eyes dropped and she stared into her coffee mug. "He kidnapped Chuck and was about to blow him up with a bomb if we didn't give him the software he was after." She hesitated. "I put a bullet in his head," she finished quietly.

Carina sat back, her arms hanging limply at her side. "Wow. But the mission was over. Time to move on. So you had a fling. Why get married? To a guy with seven kids." Carina's brow furrowed. "How old is this guy if he has seven kids? Did you marry a geezer?" she asked accusingly.

"Carina!" Sarah said, exasperated. "He's not a geezer. He's my age. When his sister and brother-in-law were killed in a car accident, he took custody of the kids. And I told you before why I got married. I love him _and_ our kids. I can't imagine my life without any of them." Carina goggled when Sarah used the word "our".

Sarah watched her friend's face while she digested all of this information. She knew Carina had to be flabbergasted. The last time they'd seen each other was before Sarah went undercover as a nun at the abbey in California. Marriage had definitely not been on either one of their radars.

"So, that's it? You quit the Agency and you're a mom to seven kids."

"No, I didn't quit the Agency. I'm just taking a little time off. We've only been married three months. And I'm the kids' aunt, not their mom."

Carina waved a hand dismissively. "Please. It's like the difference between Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks. You'll still go on missions?"

Sarah shrugged. "We haven't worked out all the details yet, but Director Graham has promised me that I won't have to go on any long term undercover missions. And the threat to my husband from Ful—," she stopped herself from giving Carina more information then she needed, "the rogue faction is still ongoing, so in some ways, I'm still protecting him. We took out the immediate threat, but the group hasn't been eliminated. Plus, Chuck's project was a huge success, so the Agency has him working on other things. His security detail is still in place."

"He sounds important," Carina said, obviously impressed.

Sarah nodded. "He is." _More than you could possibly know._

The initial shock seemed to have worn off. Carina's next words came out dripping with sarcasm, but her eyes were filled with amusement. "Thanks for the invite to the wedding, by the way."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Give me a break, Carina. You were deep undercover and I had no idea where you were. I had no way of contacting you."

Carina shrugged. "Fine. I'll give you that." Dipping her head, she said, "Nice charm bracelet. You must really be in love to wear that."

"It's a family heirloom." The steely tone of Sarah's voice let her friend know that the bracelet was off limits.

Carina squinted at her, shrugged and took another sip of coffee.

"Enough about me. What are you doing in Colorado?" Sarah asked.

"I'm about to go on a long term undercover mission in Europe, so I'm here on vacation to do some skiing."

"Can you come by and meet Chuck and the kids?"

"I wish. I would _really_ love to see you around seven children. I think that would make my life. But I'm leaving today. I ran into town to get a few things before I take off."

Sarah laughed. "Like a new knife?"

Carina's eyes gleamed. "Exactly." She glanced at her watch and said, "Speaking of which, I should get going. I do want to stop by the knife shop and then I need to get to the airport." They both stood.

Sarah felt a wave of sadness crash over her. She hadn't realized how much she enjoyed seeing her friend again. "Come back and visit? You can stay with us. We have lots of room."

"Even with seven kids in the house?" Carina teased.

Sarah hugged her friend. "Even with seven kids."

~ O ~

_Two months later…_

The string ensemble in the corner of the room played the opening strains of "Spring" from Vivaldi's _The Four Seasons_ with gusto. Sarah had to appreciate their enthusiasm. Having attended many of these kinds of swanky parties, she had heard the piece numerous times. She was sure these musicians had played it many, many times as well. _Along with another fete favorite, Pachelbel's Canon_, she thought with a smile.

Her smile faded. She felt out of sorts and a bit lost. Sighing, she realized just how much she missed Chuck and wished he was by her side. She had grown used to him always being near: his gentle hand on the small of her back, a teasing comment, the brush of his lips on hers, the way his face lit up whenever she walked in a room, his scent… She sighed again and admitted to herself that she was still a hopelessly in love newlywed.

She snagged a flute of champagne off the tray from a passing waiter and pretended to take a sip, all the while scanning the room, hoping her contact would make himself known. The room was filled with well-heeled partygoers: men dressed in tuxedos and women swathed in colorful evening gowns. She thought of her fashionista niece, Bridget. _All these beautiful dresses would make her head spin_. She knew her youngest niece, Megan, would loved to have been be at this party, too. Only Megan would be there for the spy part of it. The recently turned six-year-old, Sarah was convinced, would one day be an agent in her own right. _I'll tell her what I can about it when I get home._

Thoughts of her family back home in Colorado were interrupted by a voice calmly speaking to her through her earwig. "Agent Walker, could you position yourself so I can get a view of the left side of the room, please?" Following the voice's direction, she turned. There was a tiny camera hidden in the diamond brooch attached at the nadir of the sweetheart neckline of her evening gown. The slit up the ice blue floor length dress was thigh high, so she made sure to wear her holster of throwing knives on her other leg as not to allow them to show.

"Your host is incoming," the voice said.

"Copy," she whispered, her lips barely moving.

A distinguished looking silver haired man in his early sixties approached her. He took her hand and kissed the top of it. "Good evening. I am Henri Benoit," he said in French. "Welcome to my humble abode. I'm sorry, but I don't believe I've made your acquaintance. I'm sure I would remember meeting someone as lovely as you."

Sarah smiled graciously and replied in her host's language, "Monsieur Benoit, so nice to meet you. My name is Sarah Irving." She looked around the graciously appointed room, complete with plush rugs, tapestries hanging on the walls and huge floral arrangements gracing the top of each surface. "I would hardly call your beautiful home 'humble.'"

He waved his hand as if swatting away the compliment. "It's fine for when I'm here in the city. I have a much larger estate in the country." Stating a fact rather than asking the question, he said, "You are American."

She smiled. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, not at all," he chuckled and switched to English. "Your French is excellent, by the way. I barely hear an accent."

"Thank you," she replied to his compliment.

"I was asking if you were American since my companion for this evening is as well."

Sarah smiled and started to reply when he held up his hand. "I know America is a very large place with millions and millions of people. I do not expect you to know her. I thought perhaps you might enjoy meeting a compatriot while you are visiting here in Paris. I think she would like to meet a fellow American as well."

"I'd be happy to meet her. You're very kind," she said graciously.

"Wonderful!" He smiled, obviously pleased. "She should be joining us at any moment." He cocked his head and asked, "Now, to what do I owe the honor of you gracing my little party?"

"I'm an independent international business consultant," she started smoothly. "One of my clients is Global Energy Innovations. We're hoping your corporation would be interested in investing in alternative energy sources. When I contacted your company, I was given the name of your man in charge of venture capital, Monsieur Gauthier. He invited me here tonight so I could meet you and he and I could speak in person."

Benoit put on a faux frown, then laughed and said, "Gautier knows I don't like to mix business with pleasure, but for someone as lovely and charming as you, I will make an exception this time."

Sarah felt relief suffuse through her. Gautier was her contact and if Benoit saw them speaking at length, he wouldn't think twice about it now. Sarah gave him her megawatt smile. "Thank you so much."

He smiled in return and then his eyes were caught by something behind her. "Ah, here comes my lovely companion now." A woman's hand with a very expensive looking diamond bracelet encircling the wrist took Benoit's outstretched hand. "Caryn, my dear. This is Sarah Irving. Ms. Irving, may I introduce you to Caryn Mitchell." Turning to the young woman, he said, "Ms. Irving is American, too. I thought the two of you might enjoy meeting." He kissed her hand and added, "I know how you miss America sometimes."

Sarah worked to keep her face from registering the genuine surprise she felt. _Caryn Mitchell my ass_. For standing before her was none other than her friend Carina. She knew she really shouldn't be surprised though. Carina seemed to have a gift for popping up unexpectedly in her life. _It's a small spy world_, she thought.

As they shook hands, Sarah could see the amusement flashing in her friend's eyes. She could tell it was taking everything Carina had to keep from either bursting out laughing, giving Sarah a hug, or both.

"Ms. Irving, it's a pleasure to meet a fellow American," Carina said.

"It's a pleasure for me as well. And please, call me Sarah."

"Caryn."

One of Benoit's men came up to him and whispered in his ear. Benoit listened, nodded and then said to his aide, "I'll be right there." He returned his attention to the two striking women before him. "I'm sorry, but there is something that needs my attention. Please, enjoy getting to know each other."

Carina gave Benoit a coy look. "Take your time, Henri. I'm sure Sarah and I will find _something_ to talk about."

Sarah suppressed both a snort and an eye roll.

Benoit kissed Carina's cheek and left with his aide.

Sarah kept her body language as formal as possible, even if what she really wanted to do was to grab Carina by the wrist, drag her to a sofa, sit down and talk to her friend for two hours. Instead, she retained the same smile on her face.

The buzz of voices and the rise and fall of laughter in the room was the perfect white noise to cover their conversation. In a low voice, Sarah said, "So, _Caryn_. We keep running into each other. Is this the undercover mission you were about to go on right after skiing in Beaver Creek?"

Carina gave her a pointed look. "Not important, Walker. I want to hear about you." She glanced at Sarah's left hand and gave her a devilish look. "Trouble in paradise already? I see you're not wearing your wedding rings and you're not using your married name. I thought you took his." She put a finger to her chin. "What was it again? Pertrowski? Blutarsky?"

"Chuck and I are very happy. Plus, I'm trying to keep my marriage and the _Bartowski_," she whispered, "name out of work to keep him and the kids safer."

Sipping her champagne, Carina said, "'Irving,' though? You haven't used that before. Where'd the name come from?"

"It's my husband's middle name."

Carina sighed and rolled her eyes. "Of course it is." Shaking her head, she looked at Sarah. "I still can't believe you're married and taking care of seven kids. That's…I'm speechless. You, Sarah Walker, living in suburbia, have left me speechless."

Sarah's eyebrow rose wickedly. "Well, if that's all it took, I would have done it a long time ago."

"Very funny," Carina said, and took a sip from her champagne flute.

Sarah needed to stay sharp, but the lure of the bubbly in her hand finally overwhelmed her. She lifted the glass to her lips and allowed herself a small sip. It was wonderful.

Carina changed the subject. "So, you're here on a mission. And without your _husband_, I assume?"

Sarah smirked when the word "husband" seemed to stick in Carina's throat. "No, he's not here. This is my first mission since we got married."

Carina shivered. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to you saying words like, 'husband,' 'married,' or 'kids.'

"It took me a little while, too," she confessed. "Now I don't even notice."

Carina didn't look convinced.

"Getting back to the topic, one of Benoit's executives, Robert Gautier, contacted the American embassy here in Paris and said that he had proof that his boss was laundering money for terrorist groups specifically targeting the United States. That's why he contacted us. Apparently, Benoit is making boatloads of cash in 'processing fees.' Gautier has a conscience and doesn't approve of his boss helping terrorists in any way. I'm supposed to meet up with him here."

Carina's eyes darted about the room. "You have backup, don't you?"

"Yes. Agent Cole's in the van running comms and surveillance. Agent Barker is here at the party with me. Right over there," she indicated with a small tip of her head. "His cover is as my administrative assistant."

Carina glanced to her left and then turned back toward Sarah. "He's cute. You should — " she started and then stopped suddenly when she saw Sarah's face. "Oh, right. I forgot. So you're taking this whole marriage thing seriously, huh?"

Sarah shook her head and chuckled. She knew Carina was only messing with her. "Yes, Carina, I'm taking this whole marriage thing very seriously. You should try it some day."

The redhead made a face like she had just sucked on a lemon. "I don't think so."

Sarah shrugged. "If not marriage, you could always look into becoming a nun."

Carina shot her a glare. "What do you know —"

"Anyway," she continued before Carina could finish her question, "Gautier told us that Benoit keeps two sets of books: one for public consumption and one that keeps track of his money laundering business. He backs up the books on thumb drives and locks them up in a safe here at his house. I'm supposed to get into the safe and switch out the drives with ones in my purse. My cover is as an international business consultant here to persuade Benoit's company to invest in alternative energy technologies and Gautier is the guy I need to talk to about it. That gives us the perfect opportunity for him to give me the combination to the safe."

Carina thought for a moment and scowled. "Why doesn't Gautier just make the switch himself and just hand the drives over? Why do you have to do it?"

"He said he isn't at this house other than during parties like this one. If he disappears from the main room at any time during the party, he's afraid he might fall under suspicion if Benoit ever figures out the drives were switched. We'd like to keep Gautier on the inside as long as we can, so it's up to me to do it."

Carina nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. I've only met Gautier a couple of times and never here at the house." Her eyes flashed as she remembering something. "I overheard the other day that Benoit changes the combination once a week. Hopefully this Gautier guy has the right combination."

_I hope so, too_. Even though she had two crack agents backing her up, it was nice to have an old friend like Carina watching her back. As she glanced around the room, a number of men who had been staring at them quickly looked away. "You're obviously here undercover, Carina. What are you up to?"

"Our boy Henri is up to all kinds of no good. He's a major drug trafficker as well. His syndicate supplies heroin, among other drugs, to a fairly large chunk of Europe. My job is to get the names of as many of his distributors as I can before we take him down."

"Why not use French agents?"

"Henri knows everyone and has spies everywhere, including the French intelligence agencies. The French authorities asked for help from the U.S. Plus, we're pretty confident that one of his major distributors is American. Benoit doesn't know me as anything other than," she made a show of brushing her hair back, and saying dramatically, "'Caryn Mitchell, bored American dilettante.'"

Sarah laughed. "Hanging around the Louvre all day? Nice work if you can get it."

Carina grinned and sipped her champagne. "If you see anything in the safe that might help with my mission, grab it, would you?"

"Will do."

"I really want to meet this boy-toy of yours. Chip, wasn't it?" Carina asked, smirking as she stepped back and took another sip of champagne.

"It's Chuck."

"Right."

"And he's not my boy-toy," Sarah sighed patiently, although just saying his name made her suddenly miss him so very much. Her eyes lost focus as she pictured his devastating smile. She could almost feel his arms wrapped around her…

"Earth to Walker."

Sarah blushed when she snapped back to reality and saw the smug smile on Carina's face. "Not your boy-toy, huh?"

Sarah's retort remained unspoken, as Carina stood up straighter. A tall, thin and rather nervous looking man approached them. "Gautier," she whispered to Sarah.

"Mademoiselle Caryn, so nice to see you again," he said, shaking her hand.

"Monsieur Gautier, always a pleasure. I'd like you to meet my new acquaintance, Sarah Irving. She was telling me that she's hoping to speak with you tonight about some business opportunities. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct," he said, uneasily.

"Well, I'll let you two talk business. I hope we get a chance to speak again before you leave tonight, Ms. Irving."

"I hope so, too, Ms. Mitchell." Carina gave Sarah a wink and a smile, then turned and sauntered away.

Sarah took a deep breath and turned to Gautier. "Monsieur Gautier, thank you for inviting me to this wonderful party. I hope we both find our time here to be productive."

"I hope so, too. I am very eager to hear more about your investment opportunities." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a card. "Here is my business card. I have also written an important number on the back."

She took the card and looked at it. The front was blank. She flipped it over. On the back there was a string of numbers she assumed to be the combination to the safe. "Thank you. You're sure this works?" she asked pointedly, her eyes boring into him. "I would hate for it to be a wrong number."

With a finger, he nervously pulled at his collar. "Yes, that would be regrettable. I believe it does work. Do you have all the information you need?"

"Yes." She hesitated and then added, "Well, I hope you can answer one question for me. I need to use the _toilettes._ I assume it's here on the first floor. Is it the door to the left just before you get to Monsieur Benoit's office?"

"Yes, his office is at the end of the hall. If you reach it, you have gone too far." A relieved smile crossed his face. "But if you do stumble into it by accident, be sure to take in the Renoir. It is exquisite."

"_Merci._ You have been very helpful and I look forward to speaking with you soon. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

He startled her when he grabbed both of her arms and pulled her to him, kissing one of her cheeks. When he kissed the other, he whispered in her ear, "The data on the drives is highly encrypted. I hope you can crack the code."

"We will. I know someone who's pretty good at that," she whispered back.

He stepped away from her and smiled. She could see he was still nervous, but also relieved that his part was over.

When he walked away, she moved immediately. In her many experiences with these kinds of parties, she found that if she was alone, someone, usually a man, would approach her. "Barker, I'm going in. Keep an eye out while I'm in the office. You might need to run interference."

"Copy."

She walked down the hallway toward Benoit's office, turning her head to the left and right, seemingly looking for the bathroom. When she reached the end of the hall, she turned as if to enter it. She glanced to her left. The hallway behind her was empty. _Time to do this._

The double doors leading into Benoit's office were closed. She pressed her ear against one, listening for any sound that might indicate it was occupied. One could never be too careful. Who knew when a couple might want to slip off from the rest of the party for a secret rendezvous?

Her mind went immediately to Chuck. She wished he was there with her now and they were sneaking off to… _Focus_, she thought, mentally kicking herself. She blew out a breath and tried to put her thoughts of what Chuck and she might do in Benoit's office out of her mind…

_Focus, _she ordered again and turned the doorknob. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. It pleased her just the same as now she didn't have to take the time to pick the lock.

She opened the door, slipped into the room and closed it behind her. The room was dark, save for the moonlight streaming through the windows. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. Scanning the area, she saw a large desk and chair in the center. A leather sofa sat along one of the walls under a set of windows. A wet bar took up most of the wall opposite the sofa. She rolled her eyes at the painting on the wall behind the desk. It was a large portrait of Benoit. Turning, she saw the Renoir on the wall at her four o'clock.

"Bingo," she said quietly.

"Hallway still clear, Agent Walker," Agent Barker informed her.

"Copy," she replied, as she swung the painting away from the wall revealing the safe. _Chuck would love this. It's all so "Thomas Crown Affair."_ The smile came unbidden. Nine months ago, she didn't know anything about movies. Now she could make movie references that would make her husband beam with pride. The image of Chuck and her snuggled together on the couch watching movies in the TV room after the kids had gone upstairs filled her mind. It usually took them several nights to watch one movie since they usually ended up doing other things… _Focus!_ her mind shouted at her again.

She blinked hard a couple of times and bounced her shoulders to regain her composure. The small blinking red light on the front of the safe indicated that it was armed. She pulled a small penlight from her clutch purse and shined it on the keypad. Thankfully, this safe didn't have any biometric security measures. Shuddering, she thought about what it might take to get Benoit's eye or hand in there, especially if the rest of the man didn't come along.

With the penlight clamped between her teeth, she held the card with the combination in one hand and punched in the numbers with the other. In the quiet of the room, the small beeps the safe emitted each time she pushed a button seemed incredibly loud.

Her finger hovered in front of the last button. If it was wrong, there was a good chance an alarm would sound. She would have to take a flyer out one of the windows and take off down the street in an evening gown and silver strappy backed heels. That was not the optimal scenario.

The deep breath she took filled her lungs, but did nothing to stop the roiling in her middle. Holding her breath, she grimaced and punched the button. There were three short beeps. The red light turned off and the green one lit up. There were no sirens, no flashing lights. She let out her breath and the tension in her shoulders relaxed. She grabbed the handle on the door and opened it.

Sitting on the top shelf were stacks of bundled cash, jewelry boxes and passports from several different countries. Flipping through each passport, she saw Benoit's picture plastered in every one. "Cole, write these names down." She proceeded to read off the names on each passport and the country from which it was supposedly issued. _The Agency could certainly use this information on Benoit_, she thought.

On the lower shelf there were papers: deeds, stock certificates and bonds notes. The penlight illuminated the thumb drives lined up along the right side of the safe. She was relieved to see that Gautier's intel about the kind and color of drives was accurate as she had he exact duplicates in her purse. What she surprised to find was three drives rather than the expected two.

She grinned to herself. Amongst the many things she had already learned during the four months of being the kids' nanny and the five months of being their aunt, was that it was always necessary to be prepared when going anywhere. That meant redundancy was a good thing. Objects almost always got lost or broken. If you need one of something, you'd better take two. With that life lesson in mind, she'd prepared for this mission by putting four drives in her purse even though she was told there were two in the safe. Since she was so well prepared, she was able to take all three.

With the purloined hardware safely tucked away in her purse and the dummy ones in the safe, she shut it and swung the painting back in place. "Barker, how's it looking out there?"

"You're clear, but you should hurry."

"Copy."

She swiftly went to the door, opened it and slipped through in one quick motion. Barker stood in the hallway with his back against the wall, and hands in his pockets, as if he were waiting for someone to come out of the bathroom.

Two of Benoit's men came around the corner and into the hallway just as Sarah reached Barker.

"Hey," the bigger of Benoit's men growled in French, "you shouldn't be hanging out here."

Barker ignored them and stood away from the wall his face filled with concern as he looked at Sarah. "Ms. Irving," he said in English, "are you okay? You were gone from the party and I came looking for you."

Sarah immediately slowed her steps and sagged as if she was taken ill. Giving Barker a doleful look, she said, "I'm sorry, but I'm suddenly not feeling well." She giggled and fell into Barker's arms. Fanning herself with a hand, she said, "I think that champagne went straight to my head."

Agent Barker slipped an arm around her waist. "Do you want to sit down for awhile or should we head back to the hotel."

Benoit's men apparently spoke little English, but it seemed clear to them that one of their boss' guests wasn't feeling well. Sarah and Barker's acting was apparently believable since the two men were no longer concerned that they both had been in the hallway. They had a quick conversation where Sarah heard one tell the other to fetch Benoit.

"I think it would be best if we say good night to our host and head back to the hotel."

"Yes, Ms. Irving. Of course," Barker replied.

Still leaning on Barker for support, she staggered her way down the hall and toward the front door. They arrived in the foyer just as Benoit hurried toward them, having been informed by his aide that the beautiful blonde American wasn't feeling well.

"Mademoiselle Irving, I am so sorry to hear that you are unwell," he said, taking her hand in both of his. A valet approached and handed her coat to Barker, who settled it on her shoulders to ward off the chilly March air.

"I'm so sorry to have to leave your wonderful party in such an abrupt way, but I'm afraid it's best if we return to our hotel." Smiling wanly, she said, "Thank you so much for your hospitality. It was wonderful meeting you."

"Ms. Irving! I'm so sorry to see you're ill." Carina's face was the picture of concern as she joined the group. "But I'm sure it's for the best that you go and rest."

"Thank you, I will. If you're ever back in the States…" Sarah's eyes conveyed to Carina that she meant what she offered.

Without a hint of guile, Carina answered, "I will. I'd like that."

Sarah gave her friend a small nod. Putting her hand to her forehead, she said to Agent Barker, "We'd better go."

"Your car has already been brought around," Benoit said opening the door for her. A valet stood next to the large, black Citroen and opened the passenger door as they made their way down the steps. She slid into the seat, the door closing behind her. Barker sped around to the driver's side, climbed in and started to pull away.

When Benoit dashed up to the car, Barker was forced to stop. Sarah breathed a quiet epithet and lowered the window. _Uh oh. Could he know?_ "Yes, Monsieur Benoit?" She tried to look ill without looking nervous.

"May I have one of your business cards? I would like to meet with the company you represent. Of course, I hope you will be at all meetings as well."

"Of course." She found her cardholder in her purse, being careful to keep the stolen thumb drives out of sight. Handing a card to Benoit, she said, "I look forward to your call."

Benoit grinned and gave her a little bow. "_Au revoir."_

She waved her goodbye as Barker drove the car down the driveway. Sarah put the window up and leaned her head back against the seat's headrest. With a huge sigh of relief, she said, "Let's get out of here."

~ O ~

The drone of the airplane engines nearly lulled Sarah to sleep. Every part of her cried out for her to close her eyes. She wouldn't allow herself to do that, though, not until she was home. Home with Chuck and the kids. Then she could relax. Then she could sleep. Until then, she would keep going.

From the time Sarah and Barker had left the party, with Cole following them in the surveillance van, things hadn't stopped. They'd gone straight back to their hotel, packed up their belongings and checked out. An agency airplane had been gassed up and waited to fly them directly to Washington, D.C. The jet had jumped off the runway at nearly exactly twelve o'clock midnight and landed in Washington seven hours later. Unfortunately, with the time change, it was one a.m. local time when they touched down. She had napped on the plane, so Sarah felt alert. An awaiting van had whisked the three off to Langley, where they had a mission debriefing with Director Graham scheduled for the morning.

An agent working the night shift found a computer Sarah could use, so she spent the hours before the meeting writing up her mission report. By the time the meeting with Graham finally rolled around, she was ready for the fresh donuts and strong coffee.

The Director had been pleased with the success of the mission and commended all three agents for a job well done. Upon learning of the encryption on the thumb drives, the director assumed the software Chuck wrote for Project Sun Ray would break the code. If it didn't, Chuck would need to be involved in the decryption. Unfortunately, there were still some codes that Project Sun Ray couldn't break. So, the original drives from Benoit's safe, after being copied by the Agency's computer guys, were to travel with home with her.

And that was what she was doing now, traveling home. She sat on a commercial airplane, wedged between a businessman reading financial statements and a college student with multiple face piercings. His music was playing so loudly through his earbuds, she could hear the profanity ridden songs as clearly as if the buds were tucked in her own ears.

Sighing, she glanced at her watch and noted that it would be another hour before they landed. Doing some quick mental math, she figured out that she had gotten about three hours of sleep in the last forty. No wonder the exhaustion was beginning to overtake her.

Dragging her purse from under the seat in front of her, she decided to dig out her iPhone and read the novel she had downloaded at the airport in D.C. What she really wanted to do was to call and talk to Chuck, or at least text him, but that was impossible, so she would just have to wait.

As she rummaged around in her purse looking for her phone, she saw a small red jewelry box. Her heart fluttered. Now it was safe for her to return her rings to her finger. She was simply Sarah Bartowski, flying home from Washington and not Sarah Walker, agent for the CIA. She opened the box, slipped first the wedding band and then the diamond engagement ring onto her finger. Holding her hand out, a small smile of admiration curled her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the college kid next to her smirk. She figured he was thinking up all kinds of scenarios in which a married woman would take off and hide away her rings. Her smile grew bigger when she thought what his reaction would be if he knew the truth.

With her rings back on her finger, she missed Chuck even more. She found her phone and turned it on, making sure it was in "airplane mode". Rather than reading her book, she opened her text messages and re-read the ones they had traded while she waited at Dulles to board her flight home. The kids were fine but missed her. He missed her. She missed him more. He would be waiting for her.

That was the trouble. Once she landed and deplaned, she still had a two-and-a-half hour drive from Denver International Airport to Beaver Creek. It was nice that it wasn't going to be terribly late when they landed, only around five o'clock in the afternoon. The real problem was her body had no idea it was the afternoon. The rumbling noise and the emptiness of her stomach reminded her that it had been awhile since she had eaten. The tiny bag of chips the flight attendants passed out on the plane did nothing to stop the growling.

Time seemed to drag, but the plane finally landed and the flight attendants announced that it was permissible to turn on cell phones now that they were on the ground. Sarah turned off airplane mode and immediately texted Chuck, letting him know she had landed safely and would be home in a couple of hours. Her stomach flipped when his return text simply said, "I'll be waiting."

The idea of getting something to eat in the terminal while letting traffic die down had rattled around in her mind before the plane had landed, but Chuck's text reminded her just how badly she wanted to get home to him. If her growling stomach insisted on her eating something before she made it home, there were plenty of drive thrus along the way. She was positive she would need to get some coffee for the drive home, however.

She grabbed her bag and a large flat rectangular box she brought back with her from Paris and deplaned. Agents Cole and Barker, who were on the same flight, walked up the jetway behind her, none of them acknowledging each other.

After the train ride to and the walk through the terminal, she finally made it to the parking garage. A gust of cold dry air blasted her as she walked through the sliding door and toward her car. Her small suitcase rattled and bounced over the asphalt as it rolled behind her. She found the correct aisle and strode toward her Porsche parked two-thirds of the way down.

As she neared her car, she could tell something was off. Slowing her steps, she approached cautiously. There was a large SUV parked next to it, so she couldn't see her car from her vantage point. Through the windows of the SUV she could see someone standing next to the Porsche. Before she had a chance to get her gun from her purse, the figure stepped out from behind the larger vehicle.

She froze. "Chuck," she whispered.

He gave her one of those smiles that turned her insides to goo. "I told you I'd be waiting."


	2. The Grande Dame

**A/N the first:** First of all, I would like to thank everyone who read the first chapter of this new story. Thank you especially to those who took the time to review. I appreciate them and you. Thank you, too, for the alerts and tweets. I'm ecstatic at the response I've received so far. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Thank you to **AgentInWaiting** for his wonderful beta work on this chapter in particular and his patience with me in general when I send e-mails that say, "Wait! I added something." Thank you, sir.

Insert disclaimers here.

**Chapter 2 – The Grande Dame**

Sarah stood perfectly still in the middle of the parking garage at Denver International Airport, staring at Chuck as if he were an apparition. She was so surprised she didn't know what to do, so she did nothing.

It only took Chuck five long strides to close the distance between them, the smile never leaving his face. "I told you I'd be waiting," he repeated. "I just didn't say where."

His words jolted her out of her dazed silence. He placed a hand on her cheek, leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss.

She nearly turned into a puddle right there. She slipped her free arm under his coat and around his waist, pulling him close. _Mmmm, he smells good._ When they broke the kiss, she looked into his eyes. "What are you doing here? I was just — "

He kissed her again and said, "I know. You were just going to drive yourself home. I couldn't wait that long to see my beautiful wife. I also knew you would be tired and hungry, so I came to you." His smile faded. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Umm…"

He frowned. "That's what I thought." His eyes stared into hers. "And the last time you ate anything was…"

_Busted_. "Does the snack on the plane count?" she asked with a weak grin.

"No, not unless it came with a steak and baked potato."

She groaned. "Steak and a baked potato. Chuck, you're making my mouth water." As if called upon by the very idea of food, her stomach growled for attention. His eyebrows shot up at the sound. "I guess we need to hurry up and get some food in you."

She reluctantly allowed him to leave her embrace when he took her suitcase by the handle and rolled it toward the Porsche. Placing the bag in compartment under the hood, he grinned and said, "Ready to go?"

"What about the car you drove here in?"

His head cocked and he scowled as if deep in thought. Then he smiled and snapped his fingers. "I didn't tell you. I got a ride from someone. Hey, chauffeur! Come and show yourself."

Two aisles over the driver's side door of a large van opened. Lizzie, her seventeen-year-old niece jumped out and zigzagged through the parked cars between them. Reaching Sarah, she gave her aunt a hug and said happily, "I'm glad you're back. We all missed you."

"Well, some more than others," John Casey, her NSA partner teased, walking slowly toward them, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket. "So, didn't meet any foreign princes on the mission that wanted to whisk you away?" His burgeoning smirk was cut short when he saw the gleam in Sarah's eyes. "Oh no, Walker, please don't say it. Please, I'm begging you."

"It's Bartowski," Sarah replied, smiling widely. "And I've got my prince right here." She pulled Chuck back to her.

"Aaargh," Casey's disgruntled exclamation was drowned out by the sound of Lizzie's laughter.

"Oh come on, Uncle Sugar Bear, you walked into that one. It's your own fault for tossing her such a softball."

"Sugar Bear?" Sarah repeated, not sure if she had heard right.

Her niece nodded, ignoring the glare Casey was directing her way. "You'll have to ask Martie when you get home."

"Speaking of which, it's great to see you, but what's going on?"

"I wanted to meet you at the airport and drive you home. I needed some way to get the van back to Beaver Creek—" Chuck started.

"And I need nighttime driving to get my license, so I'm going to drive the van home," Lizzie finished, her face beaming.

"But you have to have an adult with you," Sarah said, frowning. It clicked and her face cleared. "And that's where Casey comes in."

"Uncle Casey's going to ride shotgun."

"Literally?" Sarah asked, eyeing her partner.

"Nah," Casey said. "There's no good place to put up a gun rack up in the back of that van." He gave Chuck an accusing look, "I doubt Bartowski would let me install one in the front."

"Sorry, Casey. I'm trying to keep the van that my children ride in from looking like one that transports prisoners."

Casey shrugged. "The thing's a boat, anyway. Wait until I take her out in a _real_ car to teach her some tactical driving. _That's_ when it'll get fun."

"And now I'm terrified. Thank you, Casey," Chuck deadpanned.

Sarah's stomach growled again. "Okay, now that we have the transportation straightened out, where should we all go eat? I'm starving." She thumbed behind her. "Should we all just go back into the terminal and get something?"

A knowing look passed between Lizzie and Chuck. Casey shifted his weight from one foot to the other and feigned boredom.

"Sorry, Aunt Sarah, but I can't stay." Lizzie's blue eyes danced merrily. "I need to get home before it gets too late. I have homework." She squeezed Sarah in another fierce embrace and then kissed Chuck's cheek. She took a couple of steps backward and stood next to Casey. Grinning, she said, "You two go eat. Uncle Casey and I will pick up some veggie burgers on the way home."

The big man snapped his head toward her and glowered. "I'm not eating any of that garbage."

"If I'm driving, don't I get to pick where we eat?" Lizzie teased defiantly.

"You can't go anywhere until I get in the van. And I'm not getting in the van until you promise that we'll eat somewhere that serves real food, not that hippie vegetarian crap."

"Fiiiine," she said in a dramatic, put upon voice. "How about Good Times Burgers?" She wagged her eyebrows at him. "You can get some onion rings."

Casey squinted at her, weighing the proposition. "Deal. But you're paying. You owe me for riding with you. I've been in combat. Not as scary as your driving," he goaded.

Lizzie punched him on the arm. "Uncle Casey, I'm a good driver and you know it."

"Yeah, yeah, kid," he smirked. "And that 'Sugar Bear' mention is going to cost you a Big Daddy Bacon Cheeseburger _and_ some frozen custard."

Lizzie squinted back at him. "Deal," she agreed. She slunk over to Chuck and whispered, "Can I have some money?"

He shot Lizzie an amused look and fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled two twenties out and dropped them into her awaiting palm. "And so it begins," he said ominously.

Lizzie flashed Chuck an impish grin. "Thank you."

Sarah chuckled and then remembered the box under her arm. "Oh! Lizzie, take this home with you," she said, handing it to the teenager.

Lizzie gasped. "Is this what I think it is?" She held the box in front of her reverently, as if she had just been handed the Holy Grail.

Sarah gave her a warning stare. "Yes, but you have to promise me not to open it until I get home. I want to be there."

"Okay," Lizzie said, momentarily disappointed. The feeling was fleeting when she hugged the box to her and then bounced happily on her toes. "Thank you!" she squealed and scampered back to the van. Doors opened and slammed and the engine roared to life. Lizzie stuck her head out the open window and shouted back, "Come on, Uncle Casey! Let's roll!"

"I guess we're off," Casey said. He dipped his head as a good-bye, turned and walked toward the van.

"Text us and let us know you got home safely," Chuck called out after him.

Sarah couldn't hear the grunt she assumed Casey made, but she did see him raise his arm and wave in acknowledgement, even if he didn't turn around. Once he was safely belted into the passenger seat, Lizzie slowly maneuvered out the van of its parking space.

Sarah took Chuck's hand when she noticed that he was holding his breath. Just before Lizzie started forward, she turned and waved at them, her face a picture of unadulterated joy. They both waved back, Chuck squeezing Sarah hand tightly. The vehicle rolled slowly down the aisle, turned toward the exit and disappeared.

"She'll be fine," Sarah said quietly.

Chuck sighed. "I know she will. It still doesn't keep me from worrying."

She squeezed his hand again. "I know." Cutting her eyes to him, she gave him an appreciative glance. "You look nice." He wore jeans, a heather green knit sweater and the long, black cashmere overcoat she gave him for Christmas. _Best Christmas present ever_, she thought.

He smiled. "You don't look so bad yourself." Suddenly concerned, he asked, "Are you okay? Did you get hurt? I didn't see a limp when you walked up."

She rolled her eyes. "Chuck, I'm fine. Do you want me to twirl around or something so you can see I'm all in one piece?"

"If you wouldn't mind," he said, a little embarrassed. "I'm not used to you going off on missions and stuff." He shrugged. "I worry."

He was so earnest in his concern she couldn't help but comply. She held her arms out to her sides and turned around slowly. "You're sweet to worry, but I'm fine." Completing her turn, she dropped her arms and added, "As for me looking okay, I can't remember the last time I had a chance to clean up."

He grabbed her hand again and spun her into his arms. His passionate kiss made her literally weak-kneed. "Doesn't matter to me," he murmured.

An eyebrow rose. "Apparently not." She went to kiss him again. As their lips neared, her stomach announced, once again, its displeasure at being empty. They both grinned and kissed quickly. Chuck reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the keys to the Porsche and dangled them in front of her. "I'll give you directions."

Shaking her head, she said, "You drive."

"I get to drive the Porsche?" he asked in awe.

"You came all the way to the airport just to be with me." She gave him a wink. "I think you deserve to drive it."

The resulting grin just about broke his face. "Okay, then, let's go get some food in you." He hustled to the passenger door and opened it for her. She slid into the seat and immediately leaned her head back against the headrest. Chuck lowered himself into the driver's seat and revved up the engine. Before he backed out of the parking space, he sent a text on his phone.

"What's that about?" she asked.

"Need to know," he answered with a mysterious smile.

She glanced at him and chuckled. He was up to something, but she didn't have the energy to try to get any information out of him, so she didn't respond.

They drove in companionable silence. The radio played softly, set on one of those smooth jazz stations. The heater blasted hot air at Sarah's feet, and within a couple of minutes, the interior of the car grew warm and comfortable. She stared through the front windshield as they drove along the highway, mesmerized by the road coming at them and then slipping away. The tension of the mission, the hours of travel, the meetings all melted away as she relaxed into the seat. She was able to stifle the first yawn, but the second one overtook her before she could stop it. It made her eyes water. She had trouble focusing and fought to keep her eyelids from drooping.

She awoke when the car came to a stop. It felt like her eyes were full of sand when she forced them open and looked around. The tall buildings around her informed her that they were in downtown Denver. "How long was I asleep?"

"About twenty minutes. We're here, by the way."

She had lived in Colorado for less than a year and had only been to Denver a handful of times, so she didn't know exactly where "here" was. Before she could figure anything out, her door opened and a hotel doorman offered her his white-gloved hand, "Welcome to the Brown Palace Hotel." She took it and stepped out of the car. Chuck sprang from his seat and was quickly at her side. To the doorman he said, "We have a couple of bags."

"Very good, sir." The doorman waved over a bellhop who took Sarah's bag from the compartment under the hood and Chuck's bag from behind the driver's seat as well as another smaller bag from behind the passenger seat and placed them on a luggage cart.

A parking valet appeared at Chuck's side. He handed the valet the keys to the Porsche and received a ticket in return. Tipping the doorman, he said, "Make sure they take excellent care of my wife's car." The doorman grinned appreciatively and tipped his cap. "Yes, sir."

Chuck took Sarah's hand in his and led her through the front doors into the hotel. Sarah's eyes were immediately drawn upwards, toward the last light of the day coming through the stained glass skylight eight stories up. In the huge atrium, people sat on chairs and sofas and spoke in hushed tones while a pianist played a shiny black grand piano. The interior of the hotel was a symphony of turn-of-the-century charm: carved wood paneling, intricate ironwork panels with brass handrails along the walkways, and Victorian rugs over marble floors.

"Chuck, what are we doing here?" Sarah whispered, looking around at the elegant décor and then down at her jeans and boots. "I'm not dressed for a fancy place like this."

He looked her up and down and answered quite seriously, "You look perfect to me."

She grinned at his compliment. They walked toward the main desk, their luggage following them. "We're not just eating dinner here tonight, are we?" she asked.

"You're very observant. That must be why you're so good at your job," he said poker-faced.

She smirked and playfully slapped his arm. "I usually don't let people tease me about my job. You're lucky I love you so much."

The look in his eyes nearly took her breath away. "I know."

He kissed her hand just as they arrived at the main desk. "Welcome to the Brown Palace Hotel, the Grande Dame of Denver," said the smiling young woman behind the desk. The brass nametag on her blouse indicated her name was Jennifer.

"Thank you, Jennifer," Chuck replied, smiling back. "We have a reservation. Mr. and Mrs. Charles."

Sarah gave him a sideways glance. He avoided her gaze and smiled serenely at the desk clerk.

The young woman typed at her keyboard and said, "Yes, Mr. Charles. We have your reservation right here for one of our royal suites." The corner of the clerk's mouth quirked up as she read something at the bottom of the screen. She prepared their card keys, slipped them into a paper holder and wrote their room number on the outside. Handing them across the counter to the bellhop, she said, "Josh, please take Mr. and Mrs. Charles to their suite." Giving Chuck a meaningful look, she murmured, "You should find everything in order, Mr. Charles."

Without moving her head, Sarah looked from Chuck, to the clerk, and then back to Chuck. _What is he up to?_ As their nephew Fred would say, her "spy-dey" sense was tingling.

They left the desk and waited for the elevator. The old fashioned arrow that arced back and forth as it indicated which floor the elevator was a delight to her. When the arrow reached "1" there was a ding.

After an elevator ride and a quick walk down the walkway, they arrived at their suite.

Josh the bellhop opened the door with a flourish and Sarah stepped inside. It was lovely. The sitting room had a loveseat, two chairs, a desk and a table. The bedroom and bathroom were through a door off to the right. Josh stowed the bags in the bedroom, took Chuck's tip and left.

Chuck grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "You like it?"

"Chuck, it's beautiful. What's the occasion?"

"Nothing in particular. I just wanted to do something nice for you when you came back from your trip."

Her stomach rumbled again. She walked over to the basket of food perched on top of the mini bar. "If we're going to eat at one of the restaurants here, I need to take a shower." She rifled through the basket, looking for a muffin or anything to stave off the hunger. "I gotta eat something first."

Chuck was about to respond when there was a knock at the door. He raised a finger and said, "Hold that thought." He opened the door. A smiling waiter dressed in a short red coat with the nametag "Liam" stood behind a room service cart.

"Ah, my good man. Just in time. My bride is starving," Chuck said, opening the door wider to allow the cart through the doorway.

The waiter immediately set to work. He covered the table with a white tablecloth. Next he placed on the table two plates covered with domed silver warmers. In quick succession came water filled goblets, a basket of rolls and a bottle of wine with two wine glasses. At the center of the table he placed a budvase that held a single red rose. "Do you require anything else?" he asked.

"No, thank you. We'll call if we want to order dessert," Chuck answered.

"Very good, sir." He turned to Sarah and made a slight bow. "Enjoy your meal." He turned and left.

With a great flair Chuck lifted the lid from the plate before her and revealed a filet mignon, a giant baked potato, creamed spinach and bowl of sautéed mushrooms. A green salad sat on its own plate to the side.

"Is that sour cream and butter on the potato?" she asked, her mouth beginning to water.

"Just the way you like it." His eyebrows wiggled. "You could say that potato has been smothered with goodness." He grinned. "Perhaps 'slathered' is a better word." He waved the lid over the plate a couple of times, wafting the food's aroma her direction, enticing her.

As she stepped toward the table, the smell of the food enveloped her. She literally groaned with anticipation. A realization dawned on her. "Is this what that text in the parking garage was about?"

"Mm-hmm. I wanted the food to be ready for us the minute we walked into our suite so I texted them and told them when we would arrive."

Despite her astonishment at everything that had happened in the hour or so since he'd surprised her in the parking garage, she was able to find her voice and say, "Chuck, you're so sweet. I can't believe you did all this for me." She gave him a quick kiss before she sat down.

"Yes, I'm quite the catch," he chuckled, pushing in her chair.

Craning her neck, she regarded him over her shoulder. "Yes, you are," she said, meaning it.

Their eyes locked until Chuck cleared his throat, breaking the spell. "Honey, you go ahead and get started. I'm going to open the wine." He removed the metal cap and began twisting the in corkscrew.

She didn't have to be told twice and immediately set to cutting her steak. The meat was so tender it nearly fell apart on her plate and when she popped a piece in her mouth, it melted. She shoveled a forkful of potato into her mouth and chewed while she grabbed a warm roll and buttered it. Another bite of steak caused her to moan, "Oh, god, Chuck, this is _so_ good."

He grinned as he pulled the cork out of the bottle with a _thwock_. "It sounds like I should put out the 'Do Not Disturb Sign' so you and your dinner can be alone," he quipped as he poured her a glass of wine.

Her cheeks were so stuffed with food, she felt like a chipmunk when she made a face at him. Usually, she was very conscientious about not talking with her mouth full, as she wanted to set a good example for the kids, and especially the boys. This time, though, she made an exception. "It's your fault," she mumbled around the roll and baked potato. _Curtis would be so proud of me_, she thought with a smile. "You know I'm starving. You bring me to this fabulous hotel and ply me with food and wine." Her eyes followed Chuck as he poured himself some wine and then sat down. She swallowed the mouthful of food and took a sip of wine. With a sly grin, she asked, "Are trying to seduce me, Mr. Charles?"

Cutting into his own steak, he said, "My intentions toward you are nothing but honorable, Mrs. Charles."

"Hmm. That's rather disappointing."

The bite of steak on Chuck's fork stopped halfway between his plate and open mouth. The steak knife slipped from his hand, bounced off the plate and landed on the table. His cheeks colored.

Warmth suffused through her when she saw his reaction. _He's so adorable_.

His fork hovered in the air with the steak still impaled on the tongs. "And they say the way to a _man's_ heart is through his stomach. I think they need to change that, don't you?" He grinned and finally allowed the fork to makes its way to his mouth.

She nodded vigorously and grabbed another warm roll from the basket and put it on her plate.

"I only want to take care of you by feeding you and letting you sleep. This is all about you."

"Just sleep?" she teased.

He blushed and stammered, "If that's what you want."

She chuckled. Taking another bite of food, she chewed slowly, contemplating her next words. "Chuck, do you want to talk about the search for your parents?"

"Only if you're up to it. A few more hours won't make any difference to me."

"I appreciate that, sweetie. Unfortunately, there's not a lot to tell."

His shoulders sagged. "Another dead end?"

Wincing, she nodded.

At first there had been a great amount of enthusiasm when they began their hunt for his parents. But it became _very_ clear _very_ quickly that it was going to be a _very_ difficult task. Going through channels had turned up nothing other than learning that bureaucracy would be the ultimate downfall of civilization. When they had approached Director Graham for assistance, he had been of little help other than to give Chuck and Sarah permission to do their own digging. After some research, they found the names of a few agents who were at the Agency at the same time as Chuck's parents. Unfortunately, when contacted, the responses were always the same—he or she knew of Frost and Orion and remembered hearing about their disappearances, but had no information otherwise.

Undeterred, Chuck wrote a sophisticated search algorithm to crawl through all of the Agency's databases. They were frustrated when the searches returned only one reference to the code names Frost and Orion. An agent now retired and living in Paris, had submitted a mission report several years ago where he mentioned the names Frost and Orion. Upon reading the full report, Chuck and Sarah were disappointed to find that he only cited them because he met with the same informant that he, Frost and Orion had met with during a mission years before. It was the only real lead they had found, though, so when Graham requested for Sarah to go on the mission to Paris to pilfer the thumb drives from Henri Benoit, it was an opportunity for Sarah to meet the former agent and try to gain any information she could. Plus, it was a good way for her to ease back into going on missions.

She hated giving him bad news. Again. "Yeah, I'm sorry, sweetie. I tracked down that retired agent and he agreed to speak with me. He remembered your parents even though he had only worked with them that one time in Asia."

Chuck dragged a hand over his face and filled in the rest. "Let me guess. He remembered that they had mysteriously disappeared, but never heard anything about them after that, other than the Agency was looking for them on and off over the years."

"Yes. I'm sorry."

He shrugged and gave her a weak smile. "At least you found the guy."

"He told me one thing, though," she said quietly. "He mentioned that even though his mission with them was almost forty years ago, he remembered them because he had never seen two people more in love."

He absently spun his spoon on the table.

She put a hand on his arm. "We'll just keep digging, keep looking. We'll find something," she said with more conviction than she felt.

He shook his head. "No, hon. We're done."

"What?" Frowning, she glanced at his face and only saw sadness and defeat. "Why? Chuck, we just started looking for them a few months ago."

He sat up straighter. "I know, but we've found so little. We've contacted people, I've combed through Agency databases, but there's nothing there. Most of the information about them probably isn't even digitized. It's most likely boxed up and stashed next to the Ark of the Covenant in some secure Agency warehouse out in the middle of nowhere."

"The Ark of the Covenant?"

"_Raiders of the Lost Ark_? Indiana Jones?" He gave her a scandalized look. "You watched it with me a month ago. You said you liked it."

The corner of her mouth curled. "I know, I'm just teasing. And yes, I liked the movie, but I liked what we did _during_ the movie even more. Remember how it took a week for us to get through it?"

He sat very still and his eyes took on a faraway look.

After a moment, she cleared her throat. "Chuck."

His head jerked. "Sorry. I was remembering."

She smirked. "I'll bet." Squeezing his arm, she caught his eye. "Let's not make a decision about this right now. Let's talk about it some more tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

They went back to their dinners with gusto. While they ate, they chatted about the kids, Chuck's work and her impromptu meeting with Carina in Paris. When Sarah was finally sated, she placed the cloth napkin on the table and leaned back in her chair.

He looked down at her empty plate, a pleased smile gracing his face.

(sung to the tune "Till There Was You"*)

Chuck:

There were growls in the air  
>Emanating from your stomach,<br>'Cause it really needed some food,  
>So I fed you.<p>

You ate steak and some carbs,  
>And had lovely wine for drinking,<br>A nice cabernet sauvignon  
>To relax you.<p>

There could be dessert.  
>There could be chocolate cream pie.<br>Just tell me  
>If you want me to order it for you.<p>

Now your zonked, I can tell  
>That it's nearly time for sleeping.<br>Know that I all this simply was done  
>'Cause I love you.<p>

She grinned and looked at her plate. She had absolutely demolished her meal. "I guess I was kind of hungry," she said abashed.

"Would you like dessert?"

As she leaned back in her chair, a wave of fatigue crashed over her. It all hit her at once: the full stomach, the wine, the incredibly long day and being reunited with Chuck. "Maybe later. Would you mind if I go take a shower?"

"Of course not. Go!" he said, shooing her away. "I'll take care of this," indicating the meal detritus.

She remained sitting at the table, staring vacantly at the budvase. He snickered, took her by the hand and pulled her out of the chair. "Come on." Before she knew it, he had led her to the bedroom. He flipped on the bathroom light and turned on the shower. He took the small bag he had stowed in the Porsche and put it on the bed.

"I thought you might need some clean clothes, so the girls helped me pack a few things for you. I put the essentials in, but I have no idea what else might be in here," he explained as he unzipped the bag. She couldn't wait to see what the girls had packed, so she stood next to him as they both peered inside.

On the very top of everything, was as a book with a yellow stickie on the front with the words, "In case you need something to read."

"Bridget," they said simultaneously.

He took the book out and looked at the cover. "_A Wrinkle in Time_. I could read that again," he said and tossed it on the bed. He looked down inside the bag again and said under his breath, "Oh boy."

The book's removal had revealed a lacy black negligee. She took it out of the bag, held it up by the straps and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I didn't put that in there," he babbled. "I brought something else for you to sleep in!" He rifled through the bag and pulled out a pair of boy shorts and his old Stanford t-shirt. Ever since Julie, their housekeeper, had put it in Sarah's room by accident, Sarah had claimed ownership of it. He held up the sleepwear he'd packed. "See?"

She kissed his cheek. "Chuck, it's fine. I believe you. I'm sure Lizzie and Lisa put this in there," she said, carefully laying the negligee on the bed. "Just like I'm sure Martie and Megan put these in there." Chuck's digging through the bag for her shorts and t-shirt had thrown their two youngest nieces' contribution onto the bed. She held up a pair of colorful knee high socks.

He burst out laughing. "I wouldn't laugh too hard," she teased, heading for the bathroom. "I would check your own bag if I were you."

She giggled when she saw him pick up his bag as she closed the bathroom door. The room was filled with steam. She peeled off the clothes she felt like she had been wearing for three days and piled them on the counter. Stepping into the shower, she was surprised to find that the water fell on her from directly above. It was strange at first, but then she quickly realized how nice it was as the hot water washed over her.

She just stood there, the water falling on her like rain, sweeping away the previous forty hours. As wonderful as the hot water felt on her tired body, she finally forced herself to turn off the faucet before she fell asleep. After toweling herself dry, she wrapped herself in a thick terrycloth bathrobe and stepped into the bedroom.

Chuck had leaned his back against the ornate wooden headboard, feet crossed at the ankles, and was watching something on TV.

Running a comb through her wet hair, she asked, "Why don't you take your shoes off and get comfortable?"

"I did."

She frowned. "I can see you're wearing your black chucks from here."

"Come closer."

She padded over to the bed, looked at his feet and laughed.

"You were right," he said. "Martie and Megan, with a little help from Lizzie most likely, left me a little something in my bag."

It was true. He had indeed taken his shoes off and put on the socks the girls had put in his bag. The foot of each sock was covered with a design that looked like black chucks.

Sarah sat on the edge of the bed and shook her head. "I know some day the girls will understand the real meaning of 'socks,' but I hope they never stop surprising us with them."

He nodded. "Hopefully it will become a family tradition. They're important." He laid his arm across the top of the propped up pillows inviting her to join him. She slid across the bed, snuggled into his side and rested her head on his chest. Glancing at the TV, she asked, "What are you watching?"

"_Revenge of the Sith_."

She patted his chest and said sleepily, "My nerd."

"Your nerd," he agreed and started to explain the general plot, but all she heard was his soothing voice rumbling in his chest. It felt like her bones had liquefied as she melted against his body. The words "Galactic Republic" sounded far away and were the last to penetrate her sleepy haze.

~ O ~

When Sarah woke up, she had no idea what time it was or how long she had been asleep. With the blackout curtains covering the windows, it could have been two o'clock in the afternoon and she wouldn't have known. She had a vague dreamlike recollection of Chuck waking her long enough for her to put on her t-shirt and shorts and crawl under the covers. At that time, the clock on the nightstand had read half past twelve. Now, the only thing she was sure of was that it was later than that.

As much as she wanted to stay nestled in the warm, soft bed with the luxurious sheets, nature called. She waited a moment, hoping it would pass and she could go back to sleep without having to leave the arms that enveloped her. The longer she lay there, though, the more she realized she was fighting a losing battle. She unwillingly slipped out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

Returning to the bedroom, and much to her disappointment, she noticed that Chuck had rolled over, his back now facing her side of the bed. _Dammit_. As she approached the bed, she noticed the black negligee still laying on top it. A tiny smile curled her lips. She changed her nightclothes quickly and slipped back under the covers. _Life is full of surprises, Chuck. You have your surprises. I have mine._

The red numbers on the clock informed her that it was a little after four a.m., which was six a.m. in Washington and noon in Paris. She sighed, knowing that sleep might not come to her again for the rest of the morning. She had been in Europe for a little less than a week, but it had been plenty of time to mess with her internal clock.

In the dark, she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. Letting her mind wander, she thought of the assignment she was returning from. It had been great to get back into the swing of going on missions. It was the first since she came back from her "leave of absence" after she had killed Shaw, the Fulcrum mole who had tried to steal Project Sun Ray and threated to kill Chuck a few months ago. The exhilaration and adrenaline of being on a mission reminded her of how much she loved being a spy. Chuck and the kids had been nothing but supportive when she decided to stay with the Agency. She smiled in the dark when she thought of the look of pure wonder on Megan's face after Sarah told her junior spy that she would be gone for a few days. Megan had literally jumped around with excitement. But reflecting on this mission, she knew it was different now, now that she had a husband and family.

It reminded her of something Chuck had said when he had returned from the software conference he had attended for three days soon after she had become his and the kids' protector. The two of them had been sitting out on the balcony, drinking their morning coffee, talking about what had happened during his time away. It was then that he'd confessed to her that he'd looked forward to being on his own for a few days with no responsibilities, like it had been before he had become the kids' guardian. He'd said he'd only been at the conference for a couple hours when he realized he already missed the kids, and her. Her stomach flipped when she remembered the look on his face that beautiful fall morning.

Now, she truly understood what he'd meant. She'd thought going on the mission to Paris would be just like any mission she had been on before Chuck and the kids. Yes, there had been the fun and excitement. But this time, things were different. She'd only been on the airplane for only about two hours when she started missing Chuck and the kids. She thought of them the whole time she was gone and couldn't wait to get home to them. The Agency wasn't her whole life anymore and she was okay with that. But she wasn't ready to give it up completely, either. She was good at her job and she still loved it. Sighing, she realized she was grappling with what most women struggled with—balancing family and work, even if the work was as a spy. _Carina would give me so much crap for all this navel gazing_, she thought, stifling a chuckle so as not to wake her sleeping husband.

As if cued, Chuck rolled over again and threw an arm over her. Happily, she turned onto her side and scooted back so that they were spooning. She took his arm and pulled it tighter around her. In his sleep, he approved of his arrangement by shifting so that there was little space between their bodies. _Even if I don't sleep the rest of the night, I'm okay with this._

She was asleep in two minutes.

~ O ~

**A/N the second:** *From _The Music Man_, original music and lyrics by Meredith Willson.

Now, technically, I didn't lie when I said in the A/N for the first chapter that I wasn't going to include lyrics in this story. It was true when I wrote that. I really wasn't going to. But then **ziohenry** mentioned the Doors, Kurt Weill and Bobby Darrin. And **coreymon77** said that it sucked that where weren't going to be any more songs. And **Michael66** had to go and write crazy lyrics to "Mack the Knife" (you should go read them in the reviews section for this story). **P.J. Murphy** twisted the knife with "Oh, I hope you change your mind on the music, though. Anything you can think of will work." ("That's true," the evil voice in my head whispered in temptation.) All this came _after_ **AgentInWaiting** and **Frea O'Scanlin** asked if songs would be included before the first chapter ever even posted.

"No! I won't!" I said to myself.

And then the songs for this chapter and the next two just hit me out of nowhere. What can I say? I'm weak. I can't promise there will be one for every chapter (remember, there were chapters in _Chuck vs. the Sound of Music_ that didn't have songs, either). I will, however, endeavor (for **Aerox**) to keep musical references in each chapter whether or not there are lyrics.

In conclusion, all I can say is, "They're heeeeeeere."


	3. Out of the Mouths of Babes

**A/N:** I can only say, "Thank you." Seriously, you all are wonderful (including beta boy wonder, **AgentInWaiting**).

**Chapter 3 – Out of the Mouths of Babes**

When Sarah stirred, she was more than a little surprised. Considering the time change, she expected to be awake from the time had gone to the bathroom at four, so she was pleased when she realized she had gone back to sleep.

A small gap where the curtains didn't overlap allowed a thin, bright shaft of sunlight to pierce the darkness of the room. She sighed knowing it was a bad sign. They were actually going to have to get out of bed. This was something she was, at this point, terribly against and frankly unwilling to do.

She stretched her muscles a little without changing her body position. Her left arm and leg were draped over Chuck as he lay on his back. Their heads shared his pillow, and she found herself staring at his left earlobe. Her breathing grew shallow and her heart thumped in her chest. The earlobe beckoned. The inner battle she was having whether or not to wake him was fought quickly and decisively when she realized that they were going to get up soon anyway. She didn't want to miss out on an opportunity like this, so she shifted slightly and gently took the defenseless earlobe between her front teeth.

His response was immediate. He groaned and a shudder racked his body. Without opening his eyes, he fingered the thin strap of the lacy negligee on her shoulder and said, "This doesn't feel like my–your t-shirt."

"Oh, you're awake. And no, it's not," she whispered into his ear, her lips brushing against it.

He shivered and audibly swallowed. An eye opened a sliver and peeked at her draped over him. "Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Charles?" he asked in that deep, sleepy voice she loved so much.

"My intentions toward you are nothing but honorable, Mr. Charles," she breathed, nibbling his earlobe again.

"Hmm. That's rather disappointing."

She chuckled and kissed his jaw, enjoying the feel of his morning scruff against her lips. His eyes closed, and she could feel his muscles twitching and his breath grew rapid and shallow. When she leaned over him and drew her tongue across his lower lip, he stayed still no longer. He grabbed her, flipped her onto her back and kissed her deep and hard. Her response was quick and filled with ardor and uncontrolled growling.

Unencumbered by the concern of being interrupted by any or all of their seven children, their time together was exuberant and passionate and unbridled and joyous. It left them spent, smiling and panting for breath.

"Well, _that's_ an excellent way to start the day," Chuck said, as he playfully twined his wife's hair around his hand.

"Mm-hmmm," came the only response she could muster. Her limbs felt loose and languid and it took some time before she could form a coherent sentence.

They lazed about in bed for a while, enjoying their quiet time together. Eventually, they showered, ate breakfast and packed. Sarah carefully removed the thumb drives from the safe where she had stored them overnight and returned them to her purse. Reluctantly, they departed the room, promising each other that they would return someday, sooner than later. Sarah snickered when Chuck quipped that maybe they would maybe even leave the room next time.

The room keys were dropped off at the desk and Sarah's car was brought around. She swept a critical eye over it, making sure there were no dings or scratches. Leaving her car with valets was not something she liked to do, but she, on occasion, made exceptions. Happily, the car was returned in perfect condition and soon they were off with Sarah behind the wheel. Merging onto the highway, she eyed Chuck when he laughed.

"What?"

"The valet," he replied with a smile.

After bringing the car to the front of the hotel, the valet had held the passenger door open for Sarah. His smile had faded when Chuck had climbed into the seat instead. Sarah had jogged around to the driver's side and grinning, slipped behind the wheel. Putting the window down, Chuck gave the guy a knowing look as he handed him a tip. "She belongs behind the wheel, don't you think?" The valet had only nodded, stunned and mute.

She smiled and maneuvered the car into the fast lane. It was the middle of the day and traffic through town was light. Soon, they began their ascent into the mountains. Sarah glanced over at Chuck fiddling with his iPhone.

"Chuck, can we talk about the search for your parents some more before we get home?"

"Mm-hmm," he said, looking up. Glancing at him, she recognized that look. He was thinking, analyzing, pondering. Remaining quiet, she kept her eyes on the road.

The silence ended when he said in matter-of-fact tone, "It's time to call it quits. My parents have been gone for too long. The few leads we've found have led to nothing but dead ends."

She knew how much he wanted to find his parents. Giving up the search had to be devastating to him.

"Are you sure? I know how important this is to you. I–we–can keep looking. I can even try to find that warehouse where the boxes are stored next to the Lost Ark." It was a pathetic attempt at a joke and she appreciated his brief smile.

"You don't know how much it means to me that you're willing to keep looking." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Shaking his head, she said, "It's not just about me. It's hard on the kids, too."

She nodded. "They keep asking if we've found their grandparents yet."

Staring out the window, he added quietly, "It's just too hard to keep having to say 'no.' They'll have to accept the fact that we won't ever know what happened."

The resignation in his voice deflated her. She reached over and gently placed a hand on his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Chuck. I should have never said anything about your parents and the CIA."

"No," he said quickly, his eyes flashing. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault." He turned his head slightly and kissed her palm. "It's good that we found out there's probably more to the story than they just didn't want to be our parents anymore."

His brutal honesty felt like a kick to the stomach. _Does he think I would ever do that to him and the kids?_ "Chuck, you know I would never—"

"I know," he said, taking her hand from his face and holding it in both of his. "I know."

They drove a little longer in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. "What should we tell the kids?" she finally asked.

"The truth," he said simply. "They'll be okay. They're young and resilient. They survived losing their parents, so…"

It was true. Despite that tragedy, the kids were happy, well adjusted and optimistic. Just like their uncle. "They're lucky to have you."

A smile crinkled around his eyes. "And we were all lucky the day a gorgeous, kickass ninja spy walked through our front door."

Her cheeks warmed at his compliment. Giving him a sideways glance, she said in a sultry voice, "I bet you say that to all the kickass ninja spies you know."

His eyebrows bounced. "Only the ones I'm married to."

She started to smile but then frowned as she replayed Chuck's words in her head. "Hold on. _Ones? _What exactly have you been up to while I was away?"

"You know," he started professorially, "I did a little research. Did you know that in many cultures, polygamy is an accepted—ouch! Sarah, you have a freakishly strong grip."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky I was only squeezing your hand."

She chuckled at the sharp "meep" sound he made.

"Right. Jealous wife. Got it. Best I only stay married to the love of my life then." He lifted her hand and seductively kissed each finger.

_Oh, please don't ever stop doing that._ "Chuck," she warned. "Don't make me turn this car around take you back to the hotel."

He gave her a roguish grin. "And that would be a bad thing because…"

_It wouldn't be a bad thing at all._ "Because we have seven kids waiting for us at home."

He heaved a put upon sigh and dropped their clasped hands back into his lap. "Fiiiiiiine," he sighed, mimicking Lizzie's lament. He gave her the grin that made her insides melt.

"It's good to be home."

~ O ~

By the time they pulled into the garage, it was late afternoon. When they opened the door into the house, Megan and Martie were standing there waiting for them. Both were grinning from ear to ear.

"Aunt Sarah! You're home!" Megan cried, nearly tackling Sarah to the floor with her enthusiastic hug. "I missed you!"

(sung to the tune "Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead"*)

Martie:

Hey look! Aunt Sarah's home!

Megan:

I can see!

Martie:

Aunt Sarah's home!  
>Yahoo! Our favorite spy is home!<p>

Megan:

Great news! Let's all dance,  
>Laugh and shout,<br>She's back from France.

Martie:

Hey now, our favorite spy is home.  
>She went on a mission to<br>Paris, Paris, Paris.

Megan:

She's fine, but still I want to know if gunshots rang out.

Martie:

Hi-yo, I want to shout, "She's a spy, she's no fool."

Megan:

It's so cool  
>That Sarah's home today!<p>

Sarah laughed at their enthusiastic greeting. "I missed you, too, sweetie. Both of you. All of you," she said, kneeling down to get a proper hug from Martie.

Martie threw her arms around Sarah's neck and hugged her tight. When she let go, she smiled again, her face inches from Sarah's.

"Look at you!" Sarah cried, noticing the huge gap in Martie's smile. "You lost a tooth!"

She grinned proudly, her eyes shining with excitement. "Yeah! One of the big ones right in the front!"

Sarah regarded Chuck over her shoulder. "I remember it was loose when I left, but Uncle Chuck didn't tell me it came out," she said.

"I forgot?" he ventured, lamely.

She made a face at him and turned back to her niece. "I hope the _tooth fairy_ didn't forget to visit," she said for Chuck's benefit.

"Oh, no. I put the tooth under my pillow and I got a whole dollar!"

"Wow! The tooth fairy is pretty cheap."

"The tooth fairy has a lot of kids to visit at this house." Chuck said. Laden with the three bags from the car, he scooted past her, walked down the hall and started up the stairs.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Martie," Sarah said, feeling a little sad for missing out.

The little girl grew serious. "It's okay, Aunt Sarah. I have lots of other teeth. I have another one that's loose," she said, opening her mouth wide and wiggling a tooth on her lower jaw. "Fred wants to tie a string to it and then around a doorknob and slam the door to pull it out." She scowled. "I don't think I like that idea very much."

"I don't blame you," Sarah replied. "I'd just let it fall out when it's ready if I were you."

A relieved, gap-filled smile broke.

Megan held her index finger two inches from Sarah's face. A SpongeBob SquarePants Band-Aid was securely wrapped around the top of the digit.

"Megan, what happened to your finger?" Sarah cried, kissing it.

"It got caught."

"Where?"

"In Fred's teeth."

Sarah chuckled and kissed the finger again. "Why am I not surprised?" Standing, she took a hand from each of the girls in hers and walked into the family room. "Where is everybody?"

"The boys are playing _Call of Duty_ with Uncle Casey," Martie reported.

"And Lizzie, Lisa and Bridget are upstairs doing teenager stuff," Megan finished, her voice conveying her pique that she and Martie weren't included.

Sarah knew the younger girls being excluded from the things the older ones did was an ongoing issue, so she quickly changed the subject. "It looks like you two are having fun playing Spy Barbie," she said, eyeing the set up of houses, dolls and random bits of Barbie paraphernalia strewn across the coffee table. She was excited to hear the latest exploits of Spy Barbie and GI Joe. Spy Barbie was _always_ entertaining.

Megan nodded. "Yeah, we are. But Joe's sad because Barbie lost her memory and doesn't remember him. He's trying to figure out how to help her get it back."

"Oh, Megan, that's really sad for Joe and Barbie."

"It really is," she replied, her blue eyes somber.

"How did it happen?" Sarah asked.

"Barbie got a really bad clunk on the head."

"Curtis wanted us to play where Joe has to go off by himself to do training stuff and Barbie has to stay at home and work with a new spy, GI Jim." Martie held up the black haired doll. "Jim really likes Barbie and tries to make her love him, but she still loves Joe."

Megan scrunched her nose and said, "We didn't want to play that 'cause we thought it was dumb."

Martie silently nodded her agreement with her sister.

A fierce glower overtook Megan's face. "Barbie would never love anyone but Joe. So we decided to play this story instead."

"Besides, Jim isn't very fun," Martie said. "He's kinda stiff."

"He's a doll, they're all stiff."

"No, look, his arms and legs barely move at all," proving her statement by working hard to move Jim's plastic limbs. "He's like a stick."

Sarah had to admit to herself that Jim did look rather wooden. "I think you girls made a wise story choice." Suddenly, her face became the picture of distress. "What about Barbie in this story, though? Will she get her memories back? I'd hate for her to forget all of the things she and Joe have done together."

"Aunt Sarah, don't be silly. Of course she won't forget Joe forever," Megan said as if it should be completely obvious.

"But how will Barbie get her memories back?"

"Joe's going to give Barbie a magical kiss, just like in the movies," Martie said, her eyes shining.

"Then she'll remember everything all at once and they can get married and have babies and stuff," Megan finished triumphantly.

A giggle escaped. "Well, girls, that sounds like a wonderful story." She leaned down and kissed first Martie's cheek and then Megan's. "I'm glad there's a happy ending."

"Why wouldn't there be?" Martie asked, her face the picture of innocence.

Sarah's heart melted. Smoothing her niece's hair, she answered, "No reason at all." A sound from the direction of the TV room caught her attention and made her turn. She watched as her nephews tumbled from the room and raced toward her.

Each skidded to a stop, panting and grinning. "Hi, Aunt Sarah!" Curtis shouted.

"Hi, Curtis." Affectionately, she tousled his already messy hair and eyed the giant smudge on his shirt.

"Hi, Fred."

"Hi, Aunt Sarah." _Is it my imagination, or has Fred grown an inch taller in the week I've been gone?_ "How was your mission?" he asked excitedly. "Did you shoot any bad guys?"

She grimaced. "No, I didn't shoot anybody."

All four faces fell with disappointment.

"Did you at least jump out of an airplane?" Curtis asked hopefully. "Drive a speed boat? Get in a car chase?"

Shaking her head, she had to reply, "Sorry. Nothing quite that exciting. I went to a party, though."

Curtis rolled his eyes. "That's laaaaame."

Lizzie, Lisa and Bridget bounded down the stairs. "Who went to a party?" fourteen-year-old Lisa asked.

"I did," Sarah answered, hugging each of the three girls in turn. "I had to go to a party at a house in Paris to secure some computer hardware."

"Was it one of those with fancy music and the men dressed in tuxedoes and the women all in long dresses and wearing jewels?" Bridget asked, her eyes dreamy.

"As a matter of fact it was. You would have loved it. All of you girls would have." She gave the boys a sympathetic smirk. "You guys wouldn't have."

"I've been to parties like that," Casey said, joining them. "Those monkey suits are uncomfortable."

Megan giggled. "You had to dress up like a monkey? Was it Halloween, Uncle Casey?"

"No, squirt," Lizzie laughed. "It's just another name for a tuxedo."

Megan's brows pulled together. "But tuxedos make men look like penguins. Why is it called a 'monkey suit'?"

Everyone looked at Megan, pondering her question and not coming up with any answers. They were distracted from their contemplations when Chuck bounded down the stairs. Clapping his hands together, he rubbed them and called out, "It's Friday night, which means—"

"Pizza!"

"And?"

"A movie!"

"Yes! I need to check my e-mail, so if anyone needs me, I'll be in my office," Chuck said, pointing down the hall.

"Aunt Sarah," Lizzie said, bouncing on her toes, "now that you're home, can we open the box you sent home with me last night?"

Chuck's comment about being in his office reminded her of something she really had to take care of. "Yes, of course! I just have one thing I have to do, and then I'll be ready, okay? It should only take a few minutes."

Her oldest niece grinned. "Okay, I'll be waiting in my room."

"We'll waiting in her room," Lisa said, pointing at herself and Bridget, who nodded enthusiastically.

Martie stepped up to Lizzie and asked, "Can we come, too?"

"Yes, Martie, you and Megan can come, too," Lizzie replied, playfully tweaking Martie's nose, eliciting happy smile.

"Can we come too?" Fred chimed in with a high, falsetto voice, grinning and elbowing his brother.

"Sure, Fred," Lizzie countered coolly, "How about you and Curtis grab the latest issues of _Teen Vogue _and _Elle_ from your bookshelf so we can decide how to do your hair?"

This produced shrieks of laughter from her sisters and scowls from the boys. Deciding to nip the brewing spat in the bud, Sarah spoke up, "Why don't you all help get Spy Barbie and all of her gear upstairs?"

"Can we leave it out tonight? Tomorrow is Saturday and we might want to play some more then," Megan asked, her voice very close to falling into the category of wheedling.

Sarah raised both eyebrows and gave Megan, "the look." "What's the rule?"

Megan intoned, "Everything in the family room has to be put away every night."

"If you all grab something, it will only take one trip." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fred and Curtis silently backing away toward the TV room. Without turning, she said, "Everyone needs to help, boys."

"Yes, Aunt Sarah," the boys mumbled together. Each kid grabbed a part of Spy Barbie's world, tromped up the stairs and headed to Megan and Martie's room.

As she watched them climb the stairs, Sarah felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. When she had come into the house as a faux nanny she had no experience with children. Now that she and Chuck were married, she was, for all intents and purposes, their mother and needed to be a parent. And that would require her to, as Chuck had pointed out, do the right, though not necessarily, the popular thing.

She was still, obviously, new at the parenting game, and at times felt like she was playing "catch up" to the kids. They were always pushing the boundaries, especially the older ones. Even when she recognized they were doing so, it didn't make it any easier to deal with. Moments like these helped her parenting confidence immensely.

Feeling pretty good about the kids' response to her, she grabbed her purse and went to Chuck's office. She opened the office safe and carefully placed Benoit's thumb drives in it. Closing it with a click, she moved behind him and stood with her hands on his shoulders.

Windows on one of the monitors opened and closed in quick succession as he scanned one email after another.

"Anything interesting?" she asked.

"Graham has sent me seven emails in the last twenty-four hours. I couldn't get these until we got back to a secure computer. He wants us to contact him as soon as possible."

"If it was so important, why didn't he just call or text?"

Her hands felt his shoulders tense, and he whispered an "Uh-oh."

"Chuck, what did you do?" she asked slowly.

"You were so tired last night I wanted you to sleep uninterrupted, so I put your phone on 'silent.'" He squirmed in his chair and confessed, "I just now realized I forgot to turn the ringer back on."

She dug her phone out from her purse and sat down in her chair next to his desk. There were missed calls and unread texts, all from Graham. Irritation with Chuck burbled up and she ran a hand through her hair in annoyance. "This might be really important. You can't just mess with my phone like that. I know Graham can be a pain in the ass and doesn't understand the phrase 'personal life,' but he needs to be able to get in touch with me," she said with an edge in her voice.

He winced and murmured, "Sorry."

When she saw him flinch, she immediately regretted the tone her voice had taken. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Opening them again, she tried to catch his gaze, but he stared at the monitor. He didn't pull away, though, when she reached out and took his hand. "I love that you wanted to take care of me and let me sleep last night." His eyes flicked to hers and then back to the screen. "But I've been doing this spy thing for a long time. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, Sarah," he said quietly. "It's just that now there are eight other people who want to take care of you." Hurt lurked in his eyes when he glanced at her. "You don't have to do it by yourself anymore."

Her stomach tightened. Sliding from her chair, she knelt in front of him, face-to-face. A hand automatically went to the side of his face and she rubbed her thumb over his cheek. "You're right. I'm still getting used to that."

The hurt in is eyes receded. "I'm sorry I overstepped when I messed with your phone. I won't do it again."

"You better not," she teased.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Yes, ma'am."

The lingering kiss they shared started off gentle, but quickly turned ardent and hungry. She allowed herself to become lost in their impromptu make-out session, if only for a few moments. It took every ounce of willpower to pull back and mumble, "Chuck" against his lips.

He wasn't making it easy for her to regain control, especially when his hand found its way under and up the back of her shirt. When his lips moved to her throat, her head fell back.

"Chuuuuuck," she moaned at the ceiling. "We have a house full of kids."

"Mm-hmm," came the unhelpful response.

"One of them might walk in."

"Mm-hmm."

"And we need to talk to Graham."

"Mm-hmm."

"You're not helping."

"Mm-mmm."

She clamped her hands on either side of his head and smashed her mouth against his. She kissed him so hard she literally saw stars. With a resolve that she didn't really feel, she moved her hands to his chest and pushed away from him. Needing to put distance between them, she flung herself back into her chair, panting.

Chuck, his face slack, breathed hard and stared. He sat like that for a full minute, unfocused and glassy-eyed.

Sarah worked to regain her composure. Once her breathing steadied, she straightened the clothing that had become askew and smoothed her hair. Glancing over at Chuck, he looked like he wasn't going to come around anytime soon, so she decided to give him some of the "hair of the dog that bit him." She stood, leaned down, and softly kissed him like she was awaking Sleeping Beauty. Straightening, she watched as his eyes cleared and regained their focus.

He grabbed her hand. "Thanks for the reboot. You almost melted my brain."

"Almost?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "I'm disappointed. I was going for completely. I guess I need more practice."

He grinned. "I'm always available for training."

"I'm sure you are," she smirked. "But right now, we need to check in with Graham."

He sighed and kissed her hand before releasing it. He shook out his hands as if trying to get the feeling back in them and began typing away at his keyboard. A moment later, he spun around and jumped up from his chair. He grabbed her hand again as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting for Director Graham's visage to appear on screen.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bartowski, Agent Walker. Nice of you to check in," the director said dryly, leaning into the camera so his face filled the screen. "I expected to hear from you yesterday after you landed in Colorado, Agent Walker. In the past you've always checked in with me as soon as you arrived somewhere."

_That was when I was married to my job._ This time, when she flew into Denver, contacting Graham never even occurred to her. Plus, she had _just_ seen him that morning at their briefing.

"Director, it's my—"

Slightly tightening her grip on Chuck's hand, she cut him off. "I'm sorry, Director. Since you and I met earlier in the day, I just assumed…" She shrugged and said, "I think we're all trying to adjust to the new arrangements." Graham frowned. _Apparently, he's not good with change_, she thought wryly. She knew he was less than thrilled that her life no longer revolved around the Agency like it had before Chuck. "After I landed, Chuck and I had some personal business in Denver that needed our attention." She held back the snort when Graham looked vaguely sickened by that bit of information. "We just arrived home a short time ago. And I apologize for not responding to your calls and texts. There was a problem with my phone. It's been rectified and will no longer be an issue." When she felt Chuck tense like he was about to say something, she squeezed his hand again, warning him off.

Mollified, the director sat back. "Very well. The drives you liberated from Mr. Benoit's house are secure?"

"Yes, sir. They're in the safe here in Chuck's office."

"Good. Mr. Bartowski, as Agent Walker may or may not have already told you, the information on the drives is highly encrypted with a new method we've never seen before. Our analysts here in Langley started work on it immediately, but so far have made few inroads. I'm tasking you to break this code. It is now your top priority."

"Yes, Director," Chuck said.

"Time is of the essence, Mr. Bartowski. We're coordinating with INTERPOL and want to move on Benoit as soon as we have enough evidence. We believe the information needed is on those drives. You must give it your fullest attention," Graham finished pointedly.

"Understood," Chuck replied.

"Do you have any idea how long it will take?"

He shrugged. "I'll have a better idea once I take a look at it. I have several different programs I can run depending on the sophistication of the encryption. My best guess is that it will take at least several days. Perhaps longer."

"Very well." Turning his attention to Sarah, Graham said, "Agent Walker, I'm sure I don't need to remind you of your role in all of this. You must ensure the distractions around your husband are kept to a minimum while he's working on this project. Do you understand?"

She fought to keep her eyes from rolling. _Same stuff, different day_, she thought. "Yes, sir."

"I understand that Major Casey is currently in Beaver Creek?" Although Casey was based out of Washington, General Beckman had allowed him to retain the condo in Beaver Creek as a member of Chuck's security team. It permitted Casey to visit in between NSA missions and be additional security for the family when needed. His countenance had grown thunderous when Chuck had once used the term "babysit." They all quickly learned to use the words, "protection detail" whenever Casey was to stay with the kids.

"Yes, sir. He came to stay with the children while Chuck and I were in Denver. He's scheduled to remain here through the end of next weekend." The coming week was the kids' spring break, but she didn't tell Graham that. She knew he wouldn't care.

"Good. I'm sure he can assist you with curbing interruptions while Mr. Bartowski works." Addressing Chuck, the director ordered, "Until the encryption is broken, you will report to me daily at sixteen hundred hours. I look forward to your hearing of your progress in tomorrow's report," he said tersely and then cut the feed.

They both stood staring at the blank screen for a moment. Sarah suddenly became aware of the tension in her shoulders and forced herself to relax.

"That guy only knows one song, doesn't he?" Chuck remarked, opening the safe and removing the drives.

"It's one of his greatest hits," she replied.

He gave her an approving look. "Good one."

She made a little bow. "Thank you. Now, I need to earn my keep around here. I'll order the pizza in a little while. In the meantime, Lizzie's waiting for me upstairs." She kissed his cheek. "Good luck."

"Thanks," he said absently, his mind obviously already engaged in his new task.

She closed the office door behind her and hurried past the TV room where she noted that Curtis and Casey were watching a basketball game. Dashing up the stairs, she heard music blaring from Fred and Curtis' room. She didn't know most of the current music, but she had encountered some classic rock during a phase in high school. She'd listened to enough to immediately recognize Led Zeppelin's _Stairway to Heaven_. Fred, it seemed, was embarking into his own classic rock phase. _Could be worse._

She turned the corner at the top of the stairs and skidded to a stop in Lizzie's room. Five pairs of eyes looked at her impatiently.

At the center of Lizzie's bed sat the rectangular box Sarah had brought back from Paris. The five girls encircled it, like planets around the sun.

"I'm sorry. It took longer than I thought it would. Your uncle and I had to check in with our boss."

The flash of skepticism on Lizzie's face was quickly replaced by excitement. Sitting on her knees, her blue eyes sparkled with eagerness. "I promise, I haven't opened the box. Can I try it on now? Please?"

"Yes! Yes!" Sarah laughed. "Why don't you go in your bathroom and put it on. That way we can get the full effect with a grand entrance."

"Yay!" Lizzie shrieked happily and bounded off the bed, jostling her sisters who remained. She snatched the box off the bed and sprinted to the bathroom, slamming the door.

As she ran past, Sarah could see that Lizzie had been true to her word. The gold stickers securing the top of the box to the bottom on each side were still in place, like wax sealing a scroll.

The room was heavy with anticipation. A high-pitched "eeep" filtered through the door and was quickly followed by a delighted squeal.

"I think she likes it," Sarah deadpanned, eliciting giggles from the other girls.

The bathroom door opened and Lizzie stepped out. She was radiant. Holding her arms out, she turned slowly, the long, flowing skirt brushing the floor. "Well? What do you think?"

"Wow, Lizzie. You look like a movie star," Lisa said reverently. The two littlest ones could only stare and nod.

Bridget jumped off the bed and cast a critical eye over Lizzie's dress. "It's perfect. We just need to get you some silver heels. No one else at the prom will have a dress like this since it came all the way from _Paris_!"

"You look beautiful," Sarah said, swallowing the lump that had lodged in her throat. Suddenly, her eldest niece looked so very grown up.

Lizzie rushed to Sarah and hugged her. "Thank you for finding it for me. I can't believe you were able to do it from just the page Bridget tore out of that fashion magazine."

She gave Lizzie a wink. "I had a pretty good idea where to go. Let's just say it wasn't the first time I've gone shopping in Paris."

"Lizzie, the dress make your eyes look bluer," Martie observed.

"Martie's right," Lisa agreed. "The dress doesn't match your eyes. It's more sapphire and your eyes are lighter, but they do look bluer. It looks great with your brown hair, too." Sarah had seen many pictures of Ellie, Chuck's sister and the kids' mother. Lizzie had the same beautiful chestnut hair her mother had.

"How come it only has one strap?" Megan wanted to know.

"It's called 'asymmetrical,'" Bridget informed her. "It's supposed to be like that. It's very fashion forward."

_Ah, my little fashionista_, Sarah thought with a small smile.

"I like the swirly design on the front and up the strap. It's sparkly," Martie added to the running commentary.

"So, we all approve?" Sarah asked the group.

Every head nodded enthusiastically.

"Meh, it's okay." Sarah spun around to find Fred leaning against the doorframe, hands shoved deep into the front pockets of his jeans. She knew he was messing with Lizzie from the smirk on his face.

"Shut it, Fred," Lizzie snapped.

"Lizzie!" Sarah scolded. "He's just teasing. Aren't you, Fred?"

He looked only slightly repentant. "Yeah, I am. You look nice. I just wish you weren't wasting your time going to the prom with _Brock Thornton_." The name was uttered with a heavy dose of contempt.

Lizzie shot her brother an angry glare. "I can't help it if you don't like him just because he's popular and all your friends are dorks."

"Yeah, well, better being dorks than complete boneheads."

"You're a bonehead."

"Takes one to know one." Glowering, he added, "At least we don't go around school acting like we're better than everyone else like _Brock_ and his crew do."

"Maybe they _are_ better than you," she snarked.

"Ooooooo," came the response from the peanut gallery intently watching the fireworks.

"Yeah, better at being a big ol' dou—"

"Fred!" Sarah said sharply, cutting him off. She frowned and looked at Megan and Martie, wide-eyed, sitting on the bed. "That's enough from both of you," Sarah said firmly, trying to defuse the volatile situation. Sniping at each other was nothing new, but this seemed to be on a different level. "No more name calling. Apologize to each other."

Eyes downcast, insincere "sorrys" were mumbled at the floor. It wasn't exactly a basket of puppies moment, but it would have to do. Fred disappeared down the hall and the tension in the room lessened.

"Oh, he makes me so mad," Lizzie groused through gritted teeth.

"Don't be too hard on him. He's just looking out for you," Sarah said.

Her voice was full of doubt when she said, "Maybe. He has a funny way of showing it."

"Come on, Liz. Give him a break. He's not exactly Dr. Phil," Lisa said with a knowing grin. Her quip and the subsequent snickering from the other girls swept away the residual strain from the room.

Feeling like there needed to be a reset, Sarah said to Lizzie, "Why don't you change and hang up your dress. I'm calling in the pizza soon so dinner will be in a little while."

Once the dress was safely hung in Lizzie's closet, she left the room and stood for a moment at the top of the stairs. Staring at Fred and Curtis' closed bedroom door, she had a vague feeling like she should investigate why Fred didn't like Lizzie's prom date so much. Based on what she had just heard, however, the animosity between "populars" and "nerds" (she disliked the term "dork" immensely) was no different than it had been during her own less than spectacular high school experience. Even now, many years later, the memory of being laughed at, called names and shoved against the lockers by a certain cheerleader and her friends made her jaw clench. If she didn't know Lizzie as well as she did, she might be concerned that the teenager could be hanging out with the wrong crowd. But both she and Chuck trusted Lizzie to make good choices, so she decided to, for the time being, let it be. She would, however, mention the incident to her husband. The whole thing gave her an uneasy feeling and he needed to know what was going on.

She started down the stairs, her steps slowing as she reached the bottom. Fatigue crept over her like a fog. Experience told her she would simply have to fight it a few more hours in order to get her internal clock set back to Colorado time. Sleeping in her own bed, cuddled next to Chuck was the reward she promised herself for a few more hours of wakefulness. Her eye on the prize, she pushed forward into the rest of the evening.

~ O ~

"Inconceivable!" the bald man with the slight lisp said incredulously.

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means," came the reply from the sword welding man with the Spanish accent. Snickers rolled through the room.

The pizzas had been pounced upon and devoured by the kids and Casey, like a deer taken down by a pack of hungry wolves. Empty cardboard pizza boxes stacked on the counter in the kitchen were all that remained. Now the family was settled in watching one of their favorite movies.

"Did Uncle Casey leave?" Martie asked, scanning the room.

"Shhhhh!" Curtis hissed.

Sarah nodded. "He just left a few minutes ago to go back to his condo," she replied quietly, provoking a disappointed frown from Casey's biggest fan.

"He didn't say goodbye."

"Don't worry. He'll be around here all week."

Appeased, Martie returned her attention to the movie.

Sarah sat on the couch next to Chuck with his arm draped over her shoulders. Her feet tucked comfortably under her, she marveled at the resiliency of their kids. Chuck had been right about their reaction when they were told after dinner that the search for their grandparents was over. The older children were obviously disappointed. The younger ones were unaffected other than realizing their siblings were saddened by the news. Chuck and Sarah's reasons for ending the search were met with a mixture of regret and understanding. They all agreed it was time to move on.

"Are you sure you have time to watch the movie with us?" Sarah whispered into Chuck's ear.

His reply nearly went unheard, so distracted was she by the tingle his breath caused when he whispered his response into hers. "I'm running one of my decryption programs. It'll need to run overnight. Until it finishes, there's nothing else I can do."

Nodding, she yawned into her hand. _Stupid jet lag._

"You should go to bed," he said, continuing their whispered conversation.

"No, I want to wait and go to bed when you do." She really wanted that reward. "Besides, I want to help get the kids to bed."

He kissed the side of her head. "I can take care of that." He stood up first and then pulled her to her feet. "Aunt Sarah is tired from her trip, so I'm going to put her to bed. I'll be back down in a few minutes."

"Goodnight, Aunt Sarah," the kids chorused, their eyes never leaving the movie.

She wanted to argue, but didn't have the energy. Sleep did sound pretty good. "Goodnight."

Arms around each other's waists, they slowly climbed the stairs. Once in their room, Chuck found pajamas for her to wear and pulled back her side of the covers while she brushed her teeth. Changed into her sleepwear, she tumbled into bed. Chuck pulled the covers up over her, brushed the hair off her forehead and kissed it.

She missed getting her reward by a couple of hours, but still thought she deserved _something_. "Chuck, would you lay down with me for little awhile? You don't have to change or anything."

He gave her a languid smile, walked to his side of the bed and crawled in next to her. His arm gently wrapping around her, he pulled her close and murmured, "As you wish."

~ O ~

*From _The Wizard of Oz_, music by Harold Arlen, original lyrics by E.Y. Harburg.


	4. The Visitor

**A/N**: Thank you, again, for reading and leaving reviews and/or sending me tweets, and PMs about this story. I love getting feedback. And to those of you who have to turn your snickers into fake coughing fits when you read at this at work, I wish I could say I'm sorry. I just can't. It makes my day.

Thanks to **AgentInWaiting** for his mad beta skills and great story ideas. And also, thank you, **Frea**. You rock.

If you would like to have the tune in your head for the song I put in a chapter, I tweet a link to it a day or two before the chapter posts. My Twitter handle, unsurprisingly, is **quistie64**.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck_ or any of the songs I parody/borrow.

**Chapter 4 – The Visitor**

Sarah's feet pounded across the patchwork of green and brown grass. There were still a few spots of snow here and there in the backyard, mostly in the parts that were shaded and never received any direct sunlight. Reaching out, she snatched the flying disc out of the air with one hand, spun, and flung it to Fred. He caught it, turned, and flicked it to Lisa. It was nice to know the skills she had developed playing Frisbee in the Old Yard outside her dorm at Harvard had stuck with her.

Despite the remnants of snow on the ground, they were enjoying a spectacular early spring Sunday afternoon where the cloudless sky was azure and the air was warm. Knowing that Colorado's springtime weather was notoriously fickle and that there could be feet of snow dumped on them the next day, they decided to take advantage of the fair weather while they could.

Lisa tossed the Frisbee to Curtis who then threw it back toward Sarah, completing the circuit.

"Sorry!" Curtis yelled as the disc went flying off to her left. His aim wasn't exactly accurate, so Sarah once again had to run to catch it.

"That's okay, Curtis," she yelled as she snagged the Frisbee. "My jogging routine has been kind of sporadic during the winter, so it's good for me to run."

"I can't believe you like to run, Aunt Sarah," Lisa called out across the circle. "I hate running in PE at school. I would run on purpose only if someone was chasing me."

Sarah chuckled. "Try running away from someone wearing four inch heels." Fred's arm, cocked and ready to throw the Frisbee, froze. Turning slowly, he asked with awe, "You've been chased by people?"

"Sure," she answered nonchalantly. "People chase me. I chase them. It's part of the job."

"Wow!"

She was about to respond when rather ominous and somehow familiar music reached her ears. Cocking her head to listen, she realized it originated from her back pocket. It was her phone. The screen indicated that Director Graham was calling, but the ringtone was different from the generic alert she had set for him. She rolled her eyes when she placed the music she heard. It was from _Star Wars_ and played when Darth Vader was on screen. _Chuck._ She waved her phone at the kids, indicating she needed to take the call and walked away from the Frisbee circle. "Hello, Director Graham."

"Hello, Agent Walker. I'm so glad you answered my call," he said with a hint of sarcasm.

_Darth Vader indeed_, she thought. "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?" Her eyes followed the Frisbee as it made a trip around the three-person circle.

"I need to have a video conference with you and Mr. Bartowski as soon as possible."

She glanced at her watch. "Yes, sir, but he's scheduled to report to you in a couple of hours. This can't wait until then?"

"No, it can't. I'm in my office. I'll be waiting." The call abruptly ended.

_He may not be particularly charming, but he certainly is dedicated to his job._ "Guys, I have to go in. Have fun."

They waved back as she climbed the stairs from the backyard to the doors leading to the family room. She hustled through the room and came to Chuck's office. She no longer knocked before entering, so she let herself in.

Chuck sat at his desk, scrolling through and studying lines of code on the screen. From behind, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

"How's it going?" she asked, her head right next to his.

He blew out a frustrated breath. "Slow. The first program I ran on Friday night didn't do anything to Benoit's code, so I'm in the process of writing a more sophisticated decryption program." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "I was hoping the first one would work and we could have it done in less than twenty-four hours, but that wasn't the case. Looks like whoever encrypted this took counter-measures against Project Sun Ray. Hopefully, Graham won't be too bugged by how long it might take."

"Speaking of Graham, I just got a call from him. He needs to video conference with us right away."

"Why? I'm checking in with him in a couple of hours."

"I know. I said the same thing, but he insisted." Dropping her voice to mimic the director, she said, "'I'm in my office. I'll be waiting.'"

"I guess we should get call him then." He began the process of creating the secured video link with Graham. She remained draped over him, making him resemble a yuppie wearing a sweater tied over his shoulders. Still holding her phone in her hand, she wiggled it in front of his face. "Darth Vader's theme from _Star Wars_? Really, Chuck?" she said, failing to keep the amusement from her voice.

Turning his head slightly, he replied smugly, "Technically, Sarah, it's called 'The Imperial March' and it wasn't heard until _The Empire Strikes Back_. I think it's quite appropriate, don't you?"

_God, he is such an adorable nerd._ "Skating on thin ice there, Bartowski."

"For the record, I didn't turn the ringer off, so this doesn't constitute a violation of that rule, right?"

Kissing his cheek again she chuckled and said, "I'll let you off on a technicality this time." Straightening, she added, "Just get the director on the screen."

"Yes, Agent Walker," he teased, earning him a gentle shove to the back of the head.

"It's Mrs. Bartowski around here."

He grinned and stood up next to her just as the director's face popped up on the monitor. He began their meeting without preamble. "Agent Walker, Mr. Bartowski, I need your assistance. We have just been informed that Henri Benoit found out that his thumb drives which held all the information documenting his illegal activities were stolen. We understand that fearing arrest, he has gone to ground."

"Does that mean you want me to stop working on the encryption?"

"No. We need all the information we can get on him. Knowing who his associates are might help us track him down. We have traces on his many aliases, thanks to your work, Agent Walker."

"Thank you, sir." She and Chuck glanced at each other and then back to the monitor. "I'm not sure how we can help you with any of this, though, since Chuck is already working on the encryption."

"This meeting has nothing to do with that. There was an agent for the DEA undercover within Benoit's organization."

Sarah stomach lurched. "Carina," she croaked.

"Yes, Carina Miller."

Chuck's head snapped to look at her. "Isn't she your—"

She grabbed his hand and held it tight. "Is she—"

"At this point, the DEA assumes that she is fine. She, too, has gone to ground and the government is not aware of her current location. She may still be with Benoit, we don't know. Agent Walker, you have worked with Agent Miller on several different occasions in the past. The DEA is hoping you can supply them with any leads as to whom she might contact or where she might go if she has parted ways with Benoit. Any information you can give would be appreciated. Think about it and get back to me as soon as possible. I'll pass the information along to the DEA."

"Understood," Sarah responded_._ "I'll try to get in contact with her and get something to you by the end of the day either way." Her stomach twisted. Benoit might be charming, but he was very dangerous and very well connected. She was worried for her friend.

"Mr. Bartowski, since I have you here, can you give me a report on your progress with regard to the encryption?"

"Yes, sir. As I mentioned yesterday, the first program I ran didn't break the encryption, but it did give me some additional data to work with. I'm currently in the process modifying the software from Project Sun Ray. Hopefully that will break the code."

"We all hope so. I expect a full report tomorrow." The screen went blank.

"Always the charmer," Chuck said dryly. She remained silent and she felt his gaze on her. "You're worried about Carina, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," she chuckled humorlessly. "I don't know why. She's like a cat. She has nine lives and always lands on her feet. It's just that Benoit is a really bad guy. His influence stretches throughout most of Europe. I just hope she gets away from him okay."

He embraced her and said, "I hope so, too."

~ O ~

Sarah woke up with a warm body curled up next to her, which was to be expected. The strange thing was that there was a warm body on the other side of her as well. She knew for certain whom one of them was, since his arm was draped across her stomach. As to who it was on the other side of her, she had a pretty good guess. It simply depended on if the little curled up ball had blonde or brunette hair. Before she looked, she guessed blonde. Slitting her eyes open, she looked over. She was right. Blonde.

Between Chuck's arm across her and Megan next to her, she was effectively trapped. It was a lazy Tuesday morning during the week of spring break, so she was more than happy to stay in the warm bed. Craning her neck to see the clock, it informed her that it was seven-thirty. That was late for Megan. Lizzie, Fred, Lisa, Curtis and Bridget were in the "sleeping is better than anything" stage in their lives, which meant they would sleep like the dead and deep into the morning. Her concern was for Martie. Since the two youngest shared a room, they always woke up at the same time, even on the weekends. Sarah suspected that as soon as one got up, she immediately awoke her sleeping sister. She wasn't sure how Martie would react to waking up to an empty room.

Megan stirred, yawned and rubbed a sleepy eye with a balled fist. "Megan, sweetie," she whispered. "What's the matter? Did you have a bad dream?"

The blonde head nodded. Big baby blue eyes the size of saucers gazed into hers. "There were zombies," she whispered. "They wanted to eat my brain."

Brushing rogue strands of hair away from Megan's face, Sarah said quietly, "Let me guess. Fred told you a story about zombies before you went to sleep last night."

The blue eyes stayed locked on hers and the head slowly nodded again.

It amused her and Chuck that when they went out with the kids everyone assumed they were, in fact, their own. Lizzie, Bridget and Martie were brown-haired like their mother, Ellie and by extension, their uncle. On the other hand, Fred, Lisa, Curtis and Megan were blonde like their father, Devon. Her own blonde locks made it easy for people to assume their coloring came from her. It was just another thing that proved to her that she belonged with this family.

"I think we need to tell Fred that from now on, if he's going to tell you any stories, they need to be about princesses."

"Or spies. Spies aren't scary. You're a spy and you're not scary."

A deep, sleepy voice from the other side of the bed joined the conversation. "You haven't seen your Aunt Sarah when she's _really_ mad." The hand that belonged to the arm lying across her stomach reached out and tousled Megan's hair. "She's a pretty scary spy."

Megan giggled. "Uncle Chuck, that's silly. She's scary then 'cause she's mad, not 'cause she's a spy."

Sarah laughed out loud at that. "You can't beat her logic, Uncle Chuck."

A brown-haired head popped up from the end of the bed. "Megan's right, Uncle Chuck. It's about her being mad, not being a spy." Sarah lifted her head off the pillow, looked to the end of the bed and then let it drop back. At least she didn't have to worry about Martie waking up in her room by herself anymore.

"Martie, when did you come in?" Sarah asked.

"A little while ago. Megan was gone from her bed and everyone else was still asleep, so I took my blanket, crawled up here and went back to sleep."

"Excellent problem solving, Martie," Chuck mumbled into his pillow. The little girl grinned at the compliment.

"Are you girls getting hungry?"

Megan sat up suddenly. "Mm-hmm." Sarah saw Chuck smile when Megan unconsciously echoed one of her own phrases. "But don't we have to wait for everyone else to get up?"

"No, if we do that, we'd have to wait until lunch," Sarah answered.

"Can we have pancakes?" Martie asked, bouncing on her knees. "Even if it's not Saturday?"

Sarah squished her pillow to raise her head. "Yes, we can. Even if it's not Saturday. Do you want regular, chocolate chip or blueberry?"

"Blueberry!"

"Chocolate chip!"

"One or the other. You girls will have to come to a decision about which kind together."

"How about Blueberry Chocolate chip pancakes," Chuck offered, rolling onto his back. "Everything you want rolled up in one."

"Uncle Chuck!" Martie giggled, swinging her blanket at his face. "That's gross."

He grabbed her blanket and tugged, causing her to fall forward. Then he lunged at her and the tickling began. Squealing with laughter, she kicked her legs as she tried to free herself. Megan, coming to her sister's rescue, crawled across Sarah and went for Chuck's arm.

"You better watch it, Chuck. Our little ninja might get the better of you."

"We'll see about that! Muahahahaha!" he cried, managing to tickle both girls at the same time. When a foot nearly caught her in the face, Sarah decided it was time to get out of bed. As the tiniest hint of frustration seeped into their laughter, the tickling ended.

In less than an hour, the four of them had trundled down the stairs, and mixed, griddled and consumed a batch of chocolate chip pancakes. The decision about which kind of pancakes to make was settled quickly when they realized they actually didn't even have any blueberries in the house.

Throughout the morning, the rest of the kids got up and trickled downstairs. The younger girls tried to taunt the older kids by telling them about the pancakes they'd eaten, "even though it wasn't even _Saturday_." Their teasing fell on deaf ears since the universal response by the older kids was that they didn't care because they slept in, which was better than pancakes.

After breakfast, Sarah and Megan, the little girl bedecked in her martial arts uniform, worked out in the basement. Megan had asked Sarah to show her how to both attack and defend her and Martie next time there was a tickle fight. By the end of their session, Sarah realized she'd better warn Chuck about Megan's new skills. She really didn't want her husband to end up with a broken finger, thumb or nose.

The warmer than usual outdoor temperatures meant that the windows in the house were opened and the grass needed watering. Chuck had hauled out the garden hose and was hooking it up to the spout while Sarah went into the garage to find a sprinkler head.

From the garage, she heard the purring of a car engine as it pulled in front of their house and then be shut off. Rummaging through a box of gardening stuff, she ignored it since people often got lost on the mountain roads around their property. She cocked an ear to listen when she heard a car door slam. She wasn't too concerned since the person was probably just asking for directions.

"Yes," she heard Chuck say, "This is 1905 Hammerstein Road. How can I help you?"

Her brow furrowed. _That person has our house number?_

A woman's voice carried into the garage. The words, "you _are_ a handsome guy" was said in a low tone, with an almost sultry, lilting—

_Holy crap!_ She dropped the box to the floor with a clang as garden implements banged together, it narrowly missing her foot. She darted out the garage and into the front yard. A silver BMW was parked in front of the house and a redheaded woman had invaded her husband's personal space. When the woman placed a hand on Chuck's chest, he yelped and took a step back.

As she charged across the yard and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the front door open and Bridget come out onto the porch.

When the redhead stepped closer to Chuck and placed her hand back on his chest again, Sarah called out, "Hey, paws off, Carina! He's mine!" Bridget, now frowning, typed furiously away on her phone.

Chuck's eyes widened. Pointing at Carina, he sputtered to Sarah, "_This_ is your friend Carina?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and nodded. Giving her friend a stern look, she growled, "Carina, remove your hand and step away from my husband."

Carina smirked and dropped the hand to her side. "So this is Prince Charming?" Sarah nodded. "Not bad, Walker." Giving him the once over, she said, "Definitely easy on the eyes."

Chuck instinctively stepped behind his wife. "I, uh, belong to her," he said, putting his hands on Sarah's shoulders. "I'm all hers."

Carina snickered. "I know. She's already mentioned to me _multiple_ times that you are her _husband_," she intoned the final word with solemnity.

Sarah smirked. "Plus, Carina knows I can kick her ass if she tries anything with you."

"In your dreams, Walker," came the quick retort.

"She seems nice,'" Chuck whispered drolly in his wife's ear.

She snorted quietly and elbowed him gently in the stomach. He affectionately squeezed her shoulders in response.

With Chuck secure behind her, Sarah finally allowed herself to feel the relief as it washed over her. Giving Carina a quick hug, she asked, "Are you okay? What are you doing here? I tried to get a hold of you, but couldn't. You have a half-dozen agencies looking for you all over Europe."

"I'm fine. As soon as Benoit figured out the drives were stolen, he flipped out. He took off with only his most trusted associates. That didn't include me."

"And Gautier? Did he go with—"

"I think so," Carina answered with a shrug. "He disappeared when Benoit did. Anyway, in case Benoit has any thoughts that I might have had something to do with the drives being stolen, I figured it would a great time for me to get out of town and lay low for a while. I know you tried to get in touch with me, but I couldn't respond. I used my contacts to get out of Europe and headed here. What better place to hide than up in the mountains in the middle of nowhere? Besides, you told me I could come visit. So here I am," she said, doing her best jazz-hands.

Hearing the front door slam shut, Sarah peeked over at the empty front porch. Bridget had apparently gone back inside. She could only imagine what had been texted to her brothers and sisters about the mysterious visitor.

"Do the brass know where you are?" Sarah asked, returning her attention back to Carina.

"No, not yet. I thought I'd get settled somewhere safe first before I checked in. The longer I stay off grid, the better. So can I stay here for a week or so?"

Behind her, she felt Chuck tense. "Yeah, um… Chuck and I need to talk about it first and we'll let you know."

Carina huffed her bangs out of her eyes. "Fine."

Reaching around Sarah, her husband offered a handshake. "I'm sure it's pretty clear by now, but I'm Chuck, by the way." Sarah could tell from his voice he was still unsure about Carina, but he was, as always, a gentleman.

A look of approval crossed Carina's face when she took Chuck's hand and shook it slowly. "Carina."

Sarah felt Chuck's hand return to her shoulder as she watched Carina's gaze take in the exterior of the house. Her friend's eyes flashed with admiration. "Nice digs you have here. And you told me you didn't marry him because he was rich. Liar," she teased.

Sighing, Sarah could only shake her head.

"Are you going to invite me in to see the house and meet the Brady Bunch? Or are we going to stand out here in the yard like cattle all day."

"You'll behave?" Sarah said, turning the question more into a command.

"Fiiine," Carina sighed back, motioning them to lead her to the house. As the group walked across the yard, Sarah glanced back and saw Carina checking out her husband's rear end. Her exasperated glare was met by an a-ok sign.

Just as they reached the front door, water exploded on top of Carina's head, soaking her head, hair and blouse. A spray of water sprinkled down on both Chuck and Sarah as well. The wet, flaccid remains of a pink balloon lay in a puddle at Carina's feet.

Sarah looked up just in time to see Lisa's head pull back from the guest bedroom's window. She then looked at her dripping wet friend and grinned, "It seems that you've been marked as an enemy combatant. I forgot to warn you. The kids are pretty protective of Chuck and me," Sarah said, snaking her arm around her husband's waist.

Carina swiped a finger under each eye in an attempt to stop the mascara from running down her cheeks. "You think?"

"Don't worry. They do stuff like this to everyone new," Sarah informed her. "The last guest that had her eye on Chuck, they moved her things from one room to another."

"Fabulous," she groused, looking down at her wet blouse.

Sarah shrugged. "They're kids. What do you expect? _You_ were the one with your hand on their uncle's chest a few minutes ago."

"I was just testing him to make sure Chuckie here was being faithful to you. I know how much like that quality."

"Yeah, right," Sarah said drily. "_You_ were the one who chose to come here."

"That's before I realized your kids are like something out of _The Lord of the Flies_." Sarah gave her a dirty look. "I think I'd be safer with Benoit's guys chasing me," Carina continued, tugging at the wet top trying to unstick it from her front.

"Don't worry. They'll be nice. They really are great kids. You'll see."

Carina stared at her. "You'll forgive me if I don't believe you right now."

Ignoring her comment, Sarah asked. "Why doesn't Chuck pull your car into the driveway and bring in your suitcase? You can change and dry off before you meet the kids."

"I didn't pack my wetsuit," Carina answered caustically. "Is it safe?"

"What?" Sarah said, feigning shock. "You're afraid of a bunch of kids?"

Carina gave her the stink eye. "And what, you were Mary Poppins your first day here?"

Chuck kissed her cheek. "She was terrified."

"Hey!" she replied, gently hip-checking him. Glancing back at Carina, she smiled sheepishly and said, "Yeah, I totally was."

Carina squinted at her and then Chuck and then back to Sarah. Rolling her eyes, she handed Chuck her car keys. "I'm not sure how much of you two I can take."

"Oh, suck it up, Carina," Sarah teased as Chuck opened the front door for them and held out an arm. "Maybe you'll see that marriage isn't the end of the world like you think it is."

"I highly doubt that." She peeked through the open door and into the entryway. "Walker, you go first in case the 'welcome committee' has anything else up their sleeves."

Snickering, Sarah walked through the door first, followed by Carina. The house was eerily quiet. _This could be bad. _It was never good when the kids were together and silence ruled the house.

Recalling the infamous "Chill Jill Incident" as the kids now called it, Sarah decided that if Carina stayed, it would be best to put her in the guest room in the basement. She wasn't kidding when she told Carina the kids were protective of her and Chuck and physical distance might help put their concerns at ease. Sarah knew her friend well enough to know that Carina was cheek and bluster and would never actually do anything to come between them. She was self-serving, irreverent and irascible, but she wouldn't do anything like that to a friend.

She had just finished pointing out where the main rooms of the house were when Chuck arrived with Carina's bag. "Chuck, I'm going to show Carina where she can change into something dry downstairs. Can I meet you in the office in a few minutes?"

Chuck nodded and disappeared down the hall. Sarah led the way to the basement, Carina pulling her suitcase behind her, bouncing it down the stairs.

Eyeing the mats on the floor, Carina said, "You work out down here?"

"I'm teaching the kids some self-defense. I'd watch out for the youngest, Megan, if I were you," Sarah warned, her eyes flashing with amusement. "She's flipped her brother more times than he'll admit."

Carina's eyebrows shot up.

"She'll take your job away from you one day."

"Sounds like I have to watch out for her in more ways than one."

As soon as Sarah showed her friend the guest bedroom, Carina stripped off her wet top and tossed it at Sarah, who snagged it out of the air before it hit her in the face. "Get that laundered, would you?"

"Yes, oh queen. Anything else your majesty desires?" Sarah asked wryly.

Opening her suitcase, Carina took out a dry bra and top and changed, flinging the wet, purple undergarment Sarah's direction.

The redhead then grabbed her makeup bag out of her suitcase and headed for the bathroom. Sarah sat down on the bed where she could see Carina brushing out her hair and putting it up in a ponytail.

"_If_ you stay, I know you won't be here a long time, but I'm hoping Chuck, the kids and you can all get along. So just try to be nice, okay? These are kids. Let's keep the innuendo to a minimum."

"Oh, you're just an old married hausfrau, now, aren't you?"

Sarah scowled at that characterization. "I mean it, Carina. You're my oldest friend and I want you to stay. But you can't mess with Chuck or the kids. In the end, this is about my family. My kids. My husband."

Carina stopped what she was doing and gave Sarah a hard look. Her demeanor grew serious for a second, before she shrugged and raised an eyebrow. "Okay, Mrs. Brady, you talked me into it."

~ O ~

Sarah found Chuck sitting in his desk chair facing the door with his arms crossed at his chest. Closing the door behind her, she leaned her back against it and said, "So, now you've met Carina."

"She's definitely memorable. Is she always so… forward?"

"Yeah, that's just Carina. She likes to make people uncomfortable."

"Charming."

Sarah shrugged. "What do you think about her staying here for a few days?"

"I know she's your friend, but I'm concerned that she might have a money laundering drug lord chasing after her. What if this guy or his goons come looking for her here? How safe is that for the kids?"

"She just needs to lay low. Benoit and his guys don't know her as Carina Miller. They know her as Caryn Mitchell. They don't even know the name she traveled under. If anyone starts asking around for Caryn Mitchell, then we'll know Benoit's crew is looking for her."

"What if they _are_ looking for her? What if they follow her all the way here?"

"I don't think that's going to happen. Sweetie, she's been doing this for a long time. I'm sure she covered her tracks when she left Paris."

That didn't seem to make him feel any better.

She pressed on. "You know firsthand the security here is top notch. You had a grave threat directed at you and the kids. That threat was neutralized and everyone is safe. Chuck, I would never do anything to put you or the kids at risk. You know that."

"Yeah, I do. How do we know we can trust _her_? Some of the stories you told me about your missions with her… she sounds kind of unstable."

She chuckled. "I wouldn't call Carina 'unstable.' I think a better word would be 'unpredictable.'"

"Great," he said, clearly not amused. "What if she's a bad influence on the kids?"

"Chuck, she's not coming to live with us forever. It'll probably only be a week or so. Trust me. She doesn't like to stay in one place very long. She gets bored quickly." She hesitated for a moment and then said, "I talked to her in the basement before I came up here. She promised to be nice."

His shoulders relaxed and he uncrossed his arms, dropping his hands into his lap.

"This conversation reminds me a little of the one we had when you showed up that day with Morgan and Jill." The name Jill still left a bad taste in her mouth. With her back, she pushed off the door and took a step toward him. "It happened right here in this very office. Remember how much you wanted your old friends to stay here? Do you remember how much it meant to you?"

He nodded and swallowed hard.

"That's how I feel now. You know I don't have a lot of friends. Carina coming here… it means a lot to me." The hitch in her voice surprised her.

(sung to the tune "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina"*)

It won't be easy.  
>You'll think I'm strange<br>When I'll try to explain about her  
>That she is still my friend<br>After all that she's done.

You won't believe it  
>But you will see<br>She looks like a model  
>But know she's armed to the teeth<br>And can hurl her Bowie at you.

I'd hoped that it might happen  
>That she might change.<br>But it's hard to know what she might do  
>She is unpredictable<br>Hope she won't pull her gun.  
>But she's my old friend.<br>We've saved each other's butts a time or two.  
>Just don't ask about Ecuador<br>Or mention the time in Peru.

Do this for me, it's Carina.  
>The truth is she's kinda crazy.<br>We had our wild days  
>Our spy existence.<br>I'll keep my promise  
>She'll keep her distance.<p>

As for the kids, I hope she's tame.  
>I've talked to her now that she's here<br>Asked her to dial it back  
>Try to be somewhat sane.<br>I'll keep a tight rein  
>On her mad behavior<br>I promise I will.  
>She'll only be here a short time.<br>She'll be good, just you wait and see.

Do this for me, it's Carina.

Do this for me, it's Carina.  
>The truth is she's kinda crazy.<br>We had our wild days  
>Our spy existence.<br>I'll keep my promise  
>She'll keep her distance.<p>

Have I said too much?  
>I've probably scared the living crap out of you.<br>But, Chuck, please understand  
>If you have to say no<br>Know I'll always love you.

She took another tentative step toward him. "Is it okay with you if Carina stays then?" she asked.

Standing, he slipped his arms around her waist. "I've voiced my concerns. In the end, though, Sarah, I trust you. I always have, since the first day you came here. If you think we'll be safe, it's okay with me."

She couldn't stop the grin that erupted. "Great! Thank you," she said, giving him a kiss.

He gave her an appraising look. "You know, we should call the office 'The Room of Relationship.'"

She knew he was speaking English, but the words made no sense to her.

"You know, like Harry Potter's 'Room of Requirement?' Only we call it the 'Room of Relationship,' 'cause we always have serious talks in here about our relationship and stuff." Seeing her complete bafflement, he added, "And you have no idea what I'm talking about, so I'll be quiet now."

She regarded him with a twinkle in her eye. "I love you, my wonderful, handsome nerd," she said, kissing him again.

"I love you, too, my wonderful, beautiful spy," gently tapping the tip of her nose with his finger eliciting a giggle.

Arms around each other, they walked out of the office. Her laughter rang through the house when he asked, "What, exactly, do you mean by 'unpredictable?'"

Upon reaching the staircase, Chuck went up to round up the kids and Sarah hurried down to get Carina. Entering the basement, she found Carina rifling through a closet. Peeking around the doorframe, the redhead gave her a look. "What? You left me down here by myself. What else am I supposed to do?" She disappeared back into the closet.

"You could just leave our stuff alone," came Sarah's indulgent response.

From deep within the closet, a muffled response was snorted, "Yeah, like you wouldn't do this if the situation was reversed."

"Hey," she called back, raising her voice to be heard. "I'm a spy. I get paid to snoop." _Speaking of which, I'd better tell Megan not to snoop through Carina's stuff. That could end badly._

Carina stepped out of the closet and shut the door behind her. "What am I? Chopped liver? I'm a spy, too. Just call this due diligence." Carina's eyes flashed with amusement. "You should really find a better place to hide birthday presents, by the way. The basement closet? Not very original."

"It's hard to find new and original hiding places when you have seven kids to buy presents for every year."

Carina gave in to the full body shudder.

Sarah grinned at her friend. _That just never gets old._

"So, did you get permission from the old ball and chain to let me stay?" Carina needled.

"Don't call him that," Sarah warned quietly. "This isn't just about me anymore. I have to take the safety of my husband and family into account. I assured Chuck that no one would have followed you here and that we'll all be safe." She eyed Carina. "Please don't make me a liar."

Carina waved a hand. "Don't worry. I doubt Benoit has given me a second thought. He's got bigger problems right now than worrying about little ol' me."

"You promise to be nice." It wasn't a question; it was a command.

"I promise," Carina said with mock somberness.

_That's probably about the best I can hope for._ With a relieved smile, Sarah said, "Let's have you come meet our kids."

Sarah started up the stairs with Carina following closely behind. Chuck and the kids thundered down from upstairs in a pack. They all arrived in the living room at the same time.

"Everyone, this is my friend, Miss Carina. She and I are good friends and we've worked a lot together. She'll be staying with us for a few days. I know you'll make sure her stay here pleasant," using her best "parent voice" to make her point.

"Hi, Miss Carina," they chanted together.

"Hi, kids," she replied, eyeing them warily.

Pointing to each child, Sarah listed off their names. Watching their faces, Sarah saw a unique reactions to Carina for each: Lizzie was openly curious, Fred's head was clearly about to explode, Lisa looked guarded, Curtis simply grinned, Bridget smiled diplomatically, Martie waved shyly and Megan stared up at Carina, mouth agape and eyes filled with wonder.

After Megan's introduction, she asked, "Are you a spy, too?"

Carina glanced at Sarah for approval to answer, who smirked and gave a little nod. "Yeah, I am," she answered, looking more than a little impressed.

Megan nodded soberly. Turning to Martie, she said, "We're gonna need to get another Barbie."

~ O ~

*From the musical _Evita_, music by Andrew Lloyd Webber, original lyrics by Tim Rice.


	5. The Bored Game

**A/N**: Thank you, again, for the reviews, alerts, PMs and tweets. It's so great to hear from you all. Keep 'em coming.

A big high-five to **AgentInWaiting** for his wonderful beta work.

Without further ado, I give you…

**Chapter 5 – The Bored Game**

Every plate was picked clean of any remaining morsel of food. The literal mountain of beef stroganoff Mrs. Smith had prepared for the family and their guests had been demolished like a bulldozer taking on a giant pile of dirt. Now, as they enjoyed their dessert of apple pie a la mode, the kids sat enraptured with their eyes glued to Carina as she concluded her story.

"So while your Aunt Sarah finished shaving the guy's head, I put the ferret back in its cage and duct taped the bowling pin to the wall."

"Whoa, that's so cool," Fred breathed in awe as his brother and sisters nodded in agreement.

Smirking, Sarah clarified, "How else were we going to prove that the launch codes were tattooed to the guys scalp under all that hair?" Eyes turned toward her with a new level of respect and admiration.

"Aunt Sarah, how come you haven't told us all these stories about your missions with Miss Carina?" Lisa asked.

She shrugged a shoulder. With her fork, she absentmindedly pushed a small piece of crust around the thin layer of melted ice cream covering the plate. "I guess they never came up."

"But you're awesome," Curtis said with conviction, causing heads to nod again. Chuck grinned and nodded. His nod was more enthusiastic than all the others.

Sarah gave her husband quick wink. Defying physiology, his smile widened. Carina, her gaze shifting back and forth between the two, sighed and then rolled her eyes.

Turning her attention to Curtis, Sarah replied, "Thank you, Curtis. That's very sweet, but I—we—were just doing our jobs. Right, Carina?"

"Enough with the false modesty, Sarah. We rock and you know it."

"Yeah!" came a chorus of shouts from the kids. Sarah smiled shyly and shook her head.

"So, Uncle Casey, we know your mission here in Colorado was the first time you'd ever worked with Aunt Sarah. Have you and Miss Carina been on any missions together?" Lizzie asked with an innocence that couldn't belie the devilish look on her face. "You seemed to know each other when you came in for dinner tonight."

There had been a cordial, yet somewhat awkward greeting between Casey and Carina when he'd arrived at the house for dinner. Now Casey, the fearsome NSA agent who had been trained to endure every kind of torture both physical and mental, cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his chair under Lizzie's gaze.

Carina's relaxed posture never changed as she watched Casey squirm, her eyes gleaming with glee. Her silence on the subject indicated that she was more than willing to let Casey twist in the wind.

The dining room was eerily quiet as all eyes were trained on Casey. Sarah rested her elbows on the table and her chin in the heel of her right palm, hiding her smile behind her curled back fingers. She adored Casey; she thought of him as the brother she never had. Seeing him squirm like this now, though, gave her a perverse thrill. At that moment, she understood the allure of the constant teasing that went on between her nieces and nephews.

"Yeah, we were on a mission together. Once," Casey growled through clenched teeth. His eyes shifted quickly from one face to another, never alighting on one for more than a few seconds. "In Prague."

One corner of Chuck's mouth pulled up in a crooked smile. "Did something happen in Prague, Casey?"

Casey's eyes bugged. Turning on Chuck, he shot him a dirty look.

"I don't—I don't need to know," Chuck said, schooling his features. Quiet giggles floated through the room.

"Oh, come on, Johnny, it wasn't that bad," Carina said with a mock pout.

Gleefully echoing Carina, the older kids hooted over each other. "Come on, Johnny! Tell us about this mission." Megan and Martie, not understanding all that was happening, smiled and watched everyone interact at the table, amused at the antics of their older siblings and the grown ups.

"I can't," Casey retorted. "It's classified."

"Well, not the part where you were handcuffed—"

"Thank you, Carina," Sarah said loudly, cutting her off.

To Casey's obvious relief, Chuck's sudden coughing spasm took the attention off of him.

Sarah said, "Kids, why don't you go play a video game or watch a movie or something?"

They all jumped from their seats and clambered out the door, all except for Lisa who pinned her stare on the plate in front of her.

"Carina, Lisa has something she'd like to say to you," Chuck announced, gazing at his niece. Casey, realizing that something parental was happening, shot out of his seat like he had just sat on a pinecone and was out the door in seconds flat.

Lisa swallowed hard and her stare never wavered. "Miss Carina, I'm sorry I hit you with a water balloon. It was an inappropriate way to welcome a guest to our home," she recited. "Please accept my apology." She turned her head a little. Looking sidelong at Carina, she murmured, "I really am sorry."

"Oh, don't worry about—" Carina began but was cut off by a frown from Sarah who silently mouthed the words, "Accept the apology."

An eyebrow crooked up, but apparently Carina got message when she amended, "Thank you, Lisa. I accept your apology."

Sarah gave a little sigh of relief, stood and began piling dessert plates on top of each other. Chuck also rose and copied her actions at his end of the table. Once dishes and silverware were stacked, they set off toward the kitchen. Placing their piles on the counter, Sarah headed back toward the dining room to get the remaining dinnerware. She stopped just outside the dining room and listened when she realized the two were still conversing.

"So, did you think up the water balloon all by yourself?" Carina asked.

"Um, yeah," Lisa answered hesitantly. "Bridget texted me and told me to look out the window. When I saw you talking to Uncle Chuck and you… put your hand on him, I figured I needed to do something. The water balloon was the first thing I thought of."

Carina chuckled, "Well, all I can say is, 'Good one.' I suppose I kinda deserved it."

"I guess my brothers and sisters and I are sorta protective of Uncle Chuck and Aunt Sarah."

"Don't sweat it. No harm, no foul. I was just teasing out in the yard with your uncle, by the way. Don't worry about anyone ever coming between Chuck and Sarah. I've known your aunt for a long time and I've never seen her crazy in love like she is with your uncle."

"Uncle Chuck's the same way. He gets all goofy whenever she's around. It's pretty funny."

Sarah had to smile. _It's true. I am crazy in love and he does get goofy._

The two were silent for a moment and Sarah thought the conversation was over. Then Carina spoke up, "Have you ever tried filling a balloon with shaving cream? They're lighter weight than ones filled with water, so you can carry more of them at once. Plus, they're messier, so that makes them really fun."

"Oh, I'll have to try those some time," Lisa said, her voice growing excited.

Carina's voice dropped. "Just don't tell your aunt I told you about it. She'd kill me."

Sarah didn't hear a response, but she assumed Lisa was nodding in agreement.

"I also heard about some room switching that went on awhile back. Let me guess. That was your idea."

"Um, yeah. We wanted to make sure Aunt Sarah stayed with us. So we pranked Ms. Roberts hoping she'd leave."

"Another good one," Carina said with approval. "From what I hear, this Ms. Roberts deserved it. You're quick thinking and seem to improvise well. I like you, kid."

"Really?" Lisa sounded surprised. "People usually like Lizzie 'cause she's more outgoing than me. I don't have much to say."

"Well, girl, if you've got something to say, say it."

"What if I don't say the right things?"

Carina snorted. "Then screw 'em—pardon my French. That's their problem. I hardly ever say the right things, but I still say them anyway."

It was quiet for a moment. "Miss Carina, I'm glad you came to visit."

_Well, that's interesting. _Sarah was a little conflicted by this. Having been at a particularly vulnerable age when Ellie and Devon were killed, Sarah had found Lisa rather withdrawn and the hardest to reach when she first arrived at Beaver Creek. As a matter of fact, Lisa had only opened up when it became clear that Sarah would never leave. Now, Lisa seemed to be opening up and connecting with someone else, which pleased her. But why did it have to be Carina? She probably wasn't the best role model, but Carina did have some good qualities, too. _I'll just keep an eye on this._

Not wanting to interrupt, Sarah headed back to the kitchen when she heard Carina ask, "Me, too, Lisa. Now, tell me, any cute boys at your school?"

Chuck had finished putting the dishes in the dishwasher when Sarah approached him empty handed.

"Where's the rest of the stuff?"

"I didn't want to interrupt Carina and Lisa's conversation," she answered, watching his face for a reaction to that little bit of news.

"Carina and _Lisa?_" His eyes flew open with surprise. "Should I be worried?"

"Maybe a little."

"Wha—what? Should I go in there and—"

"No, it's fine, sweetie. They were in there discussing the merits of shaving cream filled balloons. When I left, they were talking about cute boys."

"Do I need to worry about her coming after me _and_ corrupting my niece?"

She sauntered toward him and slipped her arms around his waist. His arms automatically went around her. "I have it on good authority that she was 'teasing' you before."

"And this authority would be…"

She cocked her head, "Carina. I overheard a bit of their conversation. She told Lisa never to worry about anyone coming between us because I am, and I quote, 'crazy in love' with you."

"Really?" he said with a self-satisfied smirk. "Carina said that?"

"Mm-hmm. And I wouldn't get too cocky. According to Lisa, you, my love, get 'goofy' whenever I'm around."

"Me? Goofy?" He lowered his head and kissed her. "Never."

"Never?" Her kiss was much more fervent.

When they came up for air, he looked completely dazed. "Okay, maybe a little goofy," he mumbled, "especially when you do _that_."

Her eyes twinkled as they bridged the gap and kissed again.

"Oh, gag," Carina groaned, standing at the doorway. "Does this happen a lot?"

Lisa giggled. "All the time. You get used to it after awhile."

The still entwined couple smiled against each other's lips and the kiss broke. Sarah turned in Chuck's arms and put her hands on top of his which were now laced together at her front.

"Not all the time," Chuck protested.

Lisa gave him a "you've got to be kidding me" look that made Sarah laugh out loud.

"Okay, yeah. All the time," he admitted.

Carina and Lisa managed synchronized eye rolls. "We brought in the rest of the dishes from the dining room," Lisa informed them.

"Wow, Carina. Helping with the dishes? You're practically domesticated," Sarah teased, as she watched the two place their loads on the counter. "Pretty soon you'll be wearing an apron and vacuuming in pearls."

"Bite my– your tongue. If I ever wear an apron, it'll be when it's the only—" Carina stopped herself this time. "Look at me," she said proudly. "I'm learning." Turning to Lisa, she jerked her head toward the kitchen door. "Let's get out of here and let these two finish 'doing the dishes,'" she said, exaggerating the last words.

Lisa grinned and nearly skipped out of the room next to her new friend.

Chuck squeezed Sarah tight and kissed her cheek from behind. "I guess we'd better 'do the dishes,'" he intoned dramatically.

She spun around and tossed her arms around his neck. "The dishes can wait."

And they did.

~ O ~

It was a little later than usual when Chuck and Sarah got up the next morning. The sun was higher in the sky and warmed the air just enough that they could enjoy their morning coffee outside on the balcony. This was the first time they had been able to do this since the cold weather had taken over, so it was a treat. It wasn't exactly summer, though, hence they wore sweatpants, sweatshirts and fleece-lined boots.

They had first started having their morning coffee together not too long after Sarah arrived at the house as part of Chuck's protection detail. Both would roll out of bed, throw on some clothes and together enjoy the stillness of the morning. He would sit on one side of the round outdoor table and she would sit on the other. This morning, Chuck took his seat in the same chair he sat in last summer but Sarah did not. Instead, she dragged a chair next to his, refusing to allow the table to separate them. Both enjoyed this new arrangement immensely as she sat with a coffee mug in one hand and Chuck's hand in the other.

Gazing out at the view, they sat like this for a time before Sarah heaved a contented sigh. "I've missed this. It's so peaceful in the mornings before the kids get up."

"School makes everything hectic in the mornings, that's for sure." He sipped from his mug and placed it on the table. "Maybe over the summer we can get back into the habit we were in when you first came here."

She smiled at the memory. "You wouldn't believe how much I wanted to run my hand across your morning stubble back then. And now I can," she said, reaching up and doing so. She adored the scratchy feel of it on her palm.

"I still can't believe how beautiful you are when you first get up in the morning."

She smiled at his compliment and rubbed her thumb over his stubble. Her eyes dropped to his lips. They leaned toward each other and kissed.

The door to the balcony opened and Carina stepped out with a TARDIS blue "Keep Calm I'm the Doctor" mug in her hand. "Holy crap, you two!" she groused. "The kids are right. This _does_ happen all the time."

They finished their kiss and Sarah turned toward her friend. "And good morning to you, Carina."

Carina scooted behind Chuck and Sarah's chairs and flopped down in the one on the other side of the table. Her auburn hair was up in a messy ponytail and she wore sweats and heavy socks. She sucked down a couple of deep gulps of coffee before she plunked the mug on the table.

"Kinda early for you to be up, isn't it?" Sarah asked, taking Chuck's hand in hers again.

"Well, it is ten o'clock in DC, so no, not terribly." She looked over at them. "The rugrats aren't up yet? I thought kids got up at the crack of dawn."

Sarah pulled a face. "They have names, Carina, and no, they're not up yet. We let the little ones stay up later last night than usual because you're here. The older kids will sleep till noon if we let them."

"It's that thrilling around here, huh? What is there to do around here for fun when there's no more skiing, anyway?"

"That depends on what you consider fun," Chuck answered, before taking a sip of coffee.

With a saucy look, Carina put her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. "Oh, I could show you a few things of what I think are fun, Chuckie, but I don't think your wife would appreciate them."

He jerked and made a startled, gurgling noise into his mug, causing a bit of coffee to slosh over the side. Amusement mixed with irritation shot through Sarah when she saw his ears and neck turn crimson. "Knock it off, Carina," she warned.

The redhead waved a hand and sat back in her chair. "Oh, relax. I'm just teasing. He's your husband, he belongs to you, blah, blah, blah. Seriously, though, what is there to do for fun around here?"

Recovered, Chuck said, "There's lots of outdoor activities. Hiking?"

Carina dropped her chin and stared at him with a "seriously?" look.

He turned quickly toward his wife, a confused look on his face. "Sarah, you like hiking, right? You took the kids on a hike once and you liked it."

"Mm-hmm. Sweetie, I did. And we'll hike more when the weather get better," she said, giving him a smile and squeezing his hand. "I'm not sure Carina's exactly the outdoorsy type, though."

"Hey," the other woman protested, "I like the outdoors just fine. Give me a beach in Monaco, a couple of cabana boys at hand to bring out the mojitos, a few millionaire playboys to keep things interesting, and I'm there."

"So I guess mountain biking is out of the question," Chuck said drolly.

"Completely," came her quick reply.

"Besides, whatever she does away from the house means she has to have a protection detail until we know for sure Benoit's not looking for her. So, maybe shopping or going to a spa?"

"Come on, Sarah. A protection detail? I don't need to be babysat. Unless Chuckie here is volunteering?" Sarah glared at her friend. "Sorry, force of habit. He's your husband, he belongs to you," Carina recited. "There's got to be something more exciting than shopping." Her eyes lit up. "You must have done something fun for your bachelorette party. What did you do for that?"

"I didn't have a bachelorette party," she answered, sipping her coffee.

Carina gave her an appalled look. "Why get married if you're not going to have the bachelorette party?"

Sarah squinted at her. "You're insane. You know that, right?"

Carina waved a hand. "Okay, fine. So I exaggerate a little. But it's still a crime that you didn't have one." She was silent for a moment and then exclaimed, "We're going to right this wrong and have a bachelorette party for you."

"Please, no," Sarah groaned. "That's just ridiculous. Chuck and I have been married for five months. I'm hardly a bachelorette anymore." Giving Carina a wicked look, she said, "You even called me a 'hausfrau' yesterday." She thought for a moment and added, "Besides, I'm only acquainted with a few women around here."

Carina took another gulp of coffee. "Fine. How about you and I go out, just the two of us for old times' sake."

Sarah shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Bad things happen when I go anywhere with you."

"Oh, come on, Sarah. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Being married, raising kids and working as a spy is adventurous enough for me, thank you."

Carina snorted and looked at Chuck. "Help me out here, Chuckie. Don't you want your wife to have some _fun_ once in awhile?"

Sarah tensed, ready to defend him, concerned that he had taken offense. Instead, he softly squeezed her hand and replied in a suggestive tone, "Sarah and I have _all_ kinds of fun _all_ of the time."

_Oh my word, I love him now more than ever._ She decided then and there she would show him how much she appreciated _that_ comment later.

One of Carina's eyebrows rose and she smiled with approval. "Well, it's nice to know you're keeping up with your husbandly duties. But I was talking about going to an actual club or something like that."

"It's okay with me if Sarah wants to go out with you, Carina. It's up to her," Chuck said. "I'm not going to tell her what to do."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, sweetie." _If he only knew the kind of trouble Carina can get into, I'm not sure he'd be saying that_. She felt Carina rolling her eyes at her. "Like I said before, we don't really do that. We mostly stay in with the kids, help them with homework, Chuck works in his office. Stuff like that."

"Gah, Walker, you're killing me. Look, I'm gonna get bored sitting around here with nothing to do. And you know what happens when I get bored."

Sarah did know and it was never good. Carina was right. She needed something to do. "Why don't you learn to play video games with the kids? Those are fun. You get to shoot stuff. Even Casey likes to play them."

"Me? Play video games?" She shook her head. "Not gonna happen. I haven't played games since my brothers and I played board games when I was a kid."

"We've got some of those around here," Chuck offered.

"Are you gonna make me play a _board game?_" Carina groaned.

"It's not the end of the world. It'll give you something to do," Sarah pointed out.

Carina's eyes flashed with inspiration. "Say I do agree to play. What are the stakes?"

"Stakes? There are no stakes. You're going to play with a bunch of kids. You win or lose. That's all."

Carina shook her head. "Nope. I won't play unless there's something worth winning. If I win, we find some place to go out for an evening, just the two of us for your late but not forgotten bachelorette party. If you win, we can stay in and do _homework_," she grumbled the last word.

Sarah considered Carina through hooded eyelids. _Desperate times call for desperate measures._ "Before I agree, I have some conditions of my own."

The door to the balcony opened and Martie and Megan wandered out. Martie, wearing a pink sweatshirt with Disney princesses on the front crawled into Chuck's lap and rested her head against his chest. Megan had on her favorite "spy clothes" which were really just matching black sweatpants and sweatshirt. She quickly and firmly ensconced herself on Sarah's lap.

"Hi, Miss Carina," Megan said after a yawn. Martie gave her a small wave. Both girls were obviously in awe of her.

"Good morning, girls," Carina answered. The wink she gave them prompted happy giggles from them and a smile from her.

Sarah hoped that the girls' interruption would distract Carina enough that she would forget what they had been discussing. She groaned inwardly when Carina said, "So what are your conditions?"

_Rats_. "It has to be a game that doesn't limit the number of players too much so everyone can play.

Craning her neck around, Megan asked Sarah, "What are we gonna play?"

"We want to find a board game we can all play together at the same time."

"Megan and I like _Chutes and Ladders_," Martie supplied.

"I know," Chuck answered, "and you both are very good at it. We're trying to think of a game that will let ten, and if Casey plays, eleven people play all at once," Chuck said.

They considered that question for a moment while Megan spun Sarah's engagement ring around and around on her finger.

"How about _Risk_?" Carina asked. "My brothers and I used to play that."

"Oh, no. We're not playing a game where _you_ can conquer the world," Chuck said, feigning a shiver.

"Funny, that's what my brothers used to say, too."

"How about _Monopoly_? How many can play that?" Sarah asked. She didn't have a normal childhood, but even she knew about _Monopoly_.

"Eight, maybe ten," Chuck answered with a shrug.

"Okay, say it's eight. Martie and Megan should really each play with an adult. So, that would be nine," Sarah said.

Carina shook her head. "Nah, nine players will take forever to finish a game."

Chuck nodded. "She's right. How about five teams of two?"

"But that leaves out someone," Sarah pointed out.

"That's okay. I won't play," Chuck said. "I need to work. I think the modified code I wrote for Project Sun Ray just might do the trick on the encryption. Besides, if Graham finds out I'm playing _Monopoly_, he'll put my behind in a sling."

Chuck's use of the phrase "behind in a sling" induced a fit of giggles from Martie and Megan.

"Are you _really_ gonna make me play a board game?" Carina whined.

(sung to the tune "Popular")*

Sarah:

You say you want to go out  
>If what you say is true<br>(And let's face it – no one wants  
>To go out more than you.)<br>My stomach then  
>Tends to turn to knots.<br>'Cause when you walk into a room  
>You're like a harbinger of doom.<br>Okay, I know, that was a bad pot shot.

So if you want to go  
>Tho' you would prob'ly rather smash a toe.<br>I'm sorry – you might be filled with regret.  
>To win this bet<br>The way is set.

We must play:  
>M'nopoly<br>We're gonna play Monopoly.  
>Good luck when you roll the dice<br>And get doubles twice.  
>Move your car around the board.<br>Every time that you pass "Go"  
>You'll get lots of dough<br>Real estate you'll learn to hoard  
>To win Monopoly<p>

We hafta play Monopoly  
>If you win with your race car<br>We'll go to a bar  
>Alcohol is gonna flow.<br>So let's play  
>'Cause it's the only fair way to go.<p>

La la la la  
>We're gonna play<br>Mo-nop-o-ly.

Carina eyed her and then said, "Fine. I'll play if it means we'll go out."

"Wait a minute," Chuck said. "What happens if neither of you win?"

Sarah shrugged a shoulder. "We flip a coin?"

"Why don't we just do that right now instead?" Carina asked.

Smirking, Sarah taunted, "What, you chicken I'm gonna beat you?"

"Oh, it's on, Walker."

"It's Bartowski," Megan corrected her. Martie gazed at Carina and nodded.

Chuck and Sarah managed to stifle their guffaws but not their grins. Carina, her eyes flashing with delight, schooled her features to show the appropriate level of chastisement. Dipping her head, Carina murmured, "Sorry. Bartowski."

"It's okay, Miss Carina," Megan responded benevolently. "We just like people to remember that she belongs with Uncle Chuck and us now."

The back of Sarah's eyes prickled as she encircled the little girl with her arms and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

"Don't worry, Megan," Carina said with a chuckle. "Now, I'm sure I won't forget."

~ O ~

As news of the impending _Monopoly_ battle royale spread, the house began to thrum with excitement. It was decided that the game would begin promptly at one o'clock, giving enough time for the combatants to eat lunch in preparation for the epic clash that was to come.

Curtis had called Casey telling him to come to the house immediately and to be prepared to do battle. Sarah had to subsequently call her partner to explain exactly what was going on. Otherwise, she was sure Casey would come to the house fitted out as a walking armory, guns literally blazing. At first, Casey was less than enthusiastic at the idea of playing _Monopoly_ all afternoon, but when Sarah mentioned that Mrs. Smith had made two pans of brownies for the occasion and that she would be making enough spaghetti for dinner to feed a small army, he was persuaded.

At twelve forty-five, Chuck, having found the _Monopoly_ game in a closet, ceremoniously brought it to the living room, unfolded the board and placed it on the coffee table. Past experience had shown that it worked best if only one person set up the game, and since he wasn't playing, he was deemed impartial by the kids. Both Carina and Casey groused about the impartiality statement, mumbling that a certain blonde spy would always get preferential treatment, to which his response was, "Duh."

As he set about setting up the game, the kids hung back and watched from a distance. Eyes followed him as he moved around, setting out money for each team, sorting out the property cards and placing the "Chance" and "Community Chest" cards on the board. When he was done, Sarah ostentatiously moved the money tray from beside Carina to across the table.

"Geez, Walk–Bartowski, paranoid much?"

"Dubai," came Sarah's one word rejoinder.

"So, pull one bank job and get accused of having sticky fingers for life? Besides, you were there too," Carina huffed.

Sarah was saved from replying when Chuck stood in front of the fireplace and cleared his throat. Glancing at Carina, he said, "Sundance, if we can save the reminiscing for later…?" Sarah looked around and saw seven faces staring at them, mouths open. A faint blush appeared on her cheeks as she dipped her head toward Chuck, indicating that the children should pay attention to their uncle. "Thank you, Butch. Now as I was saying, welcome to the Inaugural Spring Break Beaver Creek Monopoly Battle Royale."

"Really rolls off the tongue," Carina mumbled under her breath, provoking an elbow in the ribs from her erstwhile partner-in-crime.

"I am your host and referee, Chuck Bartowski."

"We know who you are, Uncle Chuck. Come on, let's play!" Fred called out from the end of the couch.

"Patience, young padawan," he replied. The kids snickered at Chuck's comment. Casey and Carina glanced at each other and shrugged. Sarah was pleased to clue them in, leaning closer to her friends and telling them in a low voice, "It's from _Star Wars_."

Carina gawped and whispered, "The fact that you know that, makes me sad for you."

Sarah arched an eyebrow and smirked back.

Chuck continued on. "You'll be playing in teams that I have assigned. I've done my best to make the teams equal. In the end, though, there can only be one winning team. So if you lose, there's to be…?"

"No whining." The kids unenthusiastic chant overlapped Carina's murmured, "Right hook feints and knees to groins." Chuck gave the redhead a sharp look and then turned wide-eyed to his wife who grinned weakly back at him and shrugged. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he continued on.

"And if you win, you're to be…?"

"A gracious winner," the kids sighed together.

Sarah bit her lips together to keep from laughing. The way the kids constantly responded to Chuck's speeches like this always made her want to giggle. Carina, however, couldn't stop a small snort. This time it was Casey who elbowed Carina from the other side. "Lay off. He's teaching them sportsmanship. It's good for them."

"Oh, so you won't whine when you lose?" Carina asked.

"Who said I'm gonna lose?"

"Okay," Chuck said, "if the adults are done talking smack, I'll announce the teams."

Carina heaved a sigh. "I still can't believe I'm playing _Monopoly_ with seven kids," she mumbled under her breath. "I better win 'cause I'm really going to need to go out drinking after this."

"Shhh," Sarah hissed.

Carina rolled her eyes, but stayed silent.

"These are the teams: Sarah and Megan, Casey and Martie, Carina and Lisa, Lizzie and Curtis, and Fred and Bridget." He gave a quick dissertation on the rules of the game mostly for the benefit of the kids. "By the way Bridget will be the banker."

"Why her?" Fred demanded.

"Because she's the least likely to cheat. Why do you think she's on your team?" Chuck inquired.

"Hey!" Fred cried, trying to look deeply wounded by his uncle's words. Finally he grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, you're totally right." Lizzie, sitting within arm's length of her brother, reached out and gently shoved the back of his head, prompting a good-natured chuckle from him.

"Any questions?" Chuck asked, looking around the room.

"Who gets to go first?" Lisa asked.

"We'll roll the dice and whichever team gets the highest number will go first." He handed the dice to Sarah.

"Hey! Why does she get to go first?" Lizzie asked. A chorus of "yeah"s were shouted out in support of her question.

"Would you believe me if I said it was because we're going from youngest kid to oldest?" he replied with a smile.

"_No!_" came the resounding response.

"Ha! Good, you shouldn't," he laughed, giving his smiling wife a wink. "But that's what we're going to do." Sarah handed the dice to Megan who threw them carefully onto the board. Martie was next and so on until everyone had a turn. In the end, Fred and Bridget were to go first.

Tokens were chosen by drawing slips of paper with the names of each written on them out of a hat. Otherwise, there would be a bucket of trouble since the kids would fight over the same ones. Some were happy with their picks; Megan was thrilled that they ended up with the dog. Others were not; Casey and Martie traded in the flat iron for the unclaimed cannon, much to Casey's satisfaction.

Chuck then handed the dice to Fred. To the whole group he said, "If you need a ruling, I'll be in my office."

Sarah jumped up and tugged at his shirt as he turned to go. "I'll make sure you get there safely," she said, grinning as they walked hand-in-hand toward his office.

They stopped at the bottom of the staircase. Taking her in his arms, he pulled her close and kissed the tip of her nose. "Why do you get to do all the fun stuff and I always have to work in here?" he asked grumpily.

She considered his words and answered seriously, "Because there's no one else in the country that can do what you do." Adjusting the collar of his shirt, she added, "_You_ are a very important man." _In so many ways._

He gave her a dubious look. "Well, if you put it _that_ way…"

Dipping his head, he caught her lips in a sweet kiss. Almost immediately the comments came from the living room.

"Break it up you two," Casey ordered. "We've got a game to play."

"They just never stop, do they?" Carina asked Lisa with a smirk. The teen could only laugh.

Rattling the dice in his hand, Fred called out, "Come on, Aunt Sarah. We're gonna start without you."

"I guess I should go," Sarah said, reluctantly pulling away from him.

"Will you bring me a brownie later?"

She nodded and pecked his lips. "I gotta go," she said as they went in opposite directions.

As she approached the table, she called out, "Roll dem bones, Fred." Happy to comply, he shook his hand a couple of times and let the dice go. He told Martie how many spaces to move their top hat that landed on Vermont Avenue. They immediately bought it and with that, the game was off to a roaring start. The dice were rolled, tokens passed "Go" and collected two hundred dollars and teams bought up every property they could. Money was passed back and forth as one team would occasionally land on another's property and have to pay rent. The game continued non-stop until no more properties were for sale. Everything then came to a grinding halt.

"Break time," Sarah called out. She had noticed that the little ones were getting antsy and everyone was in need of a time out. "Ten minutes. Then we can make some deals and start building on our properties, okay?"

Heads nodded and everyone got up from the floor at once, heading for the kitchen and Mrs. Smith's pans of brownies. Large glasses of milk were consumed as the brownies were devoured. Surveying the kitchen, Sarah saw that teams were already in negotiations with each other. Fred and Bridget had their heads together with Carina and Lisa, talking in low voices and occasionally glancing around the room to see if anyone could overhear their wheeling and dealing.

Sarah put a brownie on a plate, poured a glass of milk and started to head for Chuck's office. "You've got five minutes with hubby, Sarah, and then we're coming after you," Carina warned her.

A retort popped into Sarah's head about what she could do with Chuck in five minutes, but decided that Carina's next response would certainly be way more inappropriate than anything the kids should hear, so she kept it to herself. Noticing that Curtis and Lizzie were in talks with Casey and Martie—who was really just sitting with her favorite uncle, her legs swinging under the table happily as she munched on her brownie—Sarah saw Megan sitting by herself. "Megan, you come with me. Can you carry Uncle Chuck's brownie for me?"

Megan nodded eagerly, shoved the last bite of her brownie into her mouth and jumped down from her chair. She held the plate carefully between two hands and walked slowly next to Sarah toward the office.

"Aunt Sarah, what are the other teams talking about?"

"You know those cards we have with the colored stripes across the top? You have to have all of one color before you can build houses and hotels on them. Those are the little plastic green and red things you were playing with."

Megan nodded, her eyes still glued to the brownie she carefully carried.

"How come we're not talking about trading?"

"We don't have to. We already have all of the orange ones."

Since Megan was there, and in order to set a good example for her, Sarah knocked when they came to the office door. When Chuck called for them to enter, Sarah opened the door and let Megan walk in first, who cautiously approached the desk and put the plate on an empty corner. Spinning in his chair, Chuck lifted her up and set her on his lap. "Thanks for the brownie, Megan. How's it going out there?"

"Aunt Sarah says we don't have to trade 'cause we already have oranges."

"We have the three orange properties," Sarah clarified, setting the glass down on the desk next to the plate, "along with a couple of other properties and a two railroads." Glancing at the monitors on his desk, she asked, "How's it going in here?"

"Really good. My program should finish running in just a little while. I'm hoping it works."

"I hope so, too." She leaned in, kissed his cheek and put her hand out to Megan. "We'd better get back before they send out a search party for us."

Megan took Sarah's proffered hand and jumped down. Hand-in-hand, they walked down the hall and returned to their places at the coffee table.

When the game resumed, strategies were set, deals were made and positions were consolidated. It was surprising to all when Casey and Martie were the first to declare bankruptcy. He had built aggressively on their property and were cash strapped. When they had the misfortune of landing on Park Place with three houses on it, it busted them to Carina and Lisa. "No commie housing bailout for us," he told his partner who smiled back uncomprehendingly.

The next team to go out was Bridget and Fred, who became red faced when he had to hand his assets to his littlest sister.

"She doesn't even know what's going on!" he grumbled, to which she replied sweetly, "I do, too. We just beat you!"

It was down to Sarah and Megan's team pitted against Carina and Lisa's after Lizzie and Curtis went out soon after the controversial "one dice fell on the floor on that roll does it count?" ruling. Both teams were equally matched in cash and properties. It looked like the game could go on for days.

The players who had already gone out began making side bets with one another as to which team would be victorious. Fred bet Lizzie a week of taking out the trash that Sarah and Megan would win. Curtis bet Bridget a week of bed making that Carina and Lisa would win. Casey advised Martie to stay neutral which she did with a solemn nod.

Over the course of the next thirty minutes, Sarah and Megan began to run low on cash and were confronted with a precarious position. Facing the gauntlet of properties owned by Carina and Lisa, they needed a lucky roll to get past safely.

All eyes were glued on the board and Megan shook the dice between her cupped together hands. "What if I roll a bad number?" she asked with worry.

Sarah gave her a side-hug. "Then we might lose. It's not the end of the world."

"It might not be for you. I don't want to have to make Curtis' bed for a week," Bridget said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "I don't even like going _in_ their room. It smells."

Megan took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tossed the dice on the table. Once the dice came to a rest, Carina, Lisa, Lizzie and Curtis cheered, high-fived and fist bumped. Sarah, Fred, and Bridget groaned. Megan opened her eyes and frowned. Sarah gave her a nod to go ahead and move their token. The little girl counted the pips, then tapped the dog along the board until it finally came to rest on Boardwalk with a hotel. The game was over.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Sarah," Megan choked, tears puddling in her eyes.

"Sweetie, it's okay. It's not your fault. Part of this game is nothing but pure luck." With her thumb, Sarah swiped a tear that had escaped and trickled down Megan's cheek. "Our luck ran out. Simple as that." She gave her an encouraging smile. "Okay?"

Megan took a deep breath and hiccupped. Nodding bravely, she answered quietly, "Okay."

Hugging her youngest, she whispered, "That's my girl." Releasing her, she stood and said to Carina and Lisa, "Congratulations you two. Well played."

"Thank you, Aunt Sarah" Lisa grinned. Sarah didn't know if she had ever seen Lisa look so pleased. Carina, as expected, didn't seem to care about the niceties of sportsmanship, instead preferring to get down to business. "So, Walk–Bartowski, when are we going out and where are we going?" she asked smugly.

"Wow, Carina, not wasting any time," Sarah said with a snicker. "I need to coordinate with Agents Vegas and Barstow. If we can work it out, we'll go tomorrow night."

"Good," Carina said.

The noise and general pandemonium had brought Chuck out of his office. "I heard a ruckus out here. I assume the game is over?" he asked, grinning as he strolled into the living room.

"Uncle Chuck! Miss Carina and I won!" Lisa called out, her face shining with happiness.

"That's great, Lisa. So you're the family real estate tycoon, huh?" he said, giving her a high-five.

Lisa beamed and nodded.

He sidled up next to Sarah and said, "I guess you'll be going out with Carina, hmmm?"

"It looks that way," she answered, sighing.

He surprised her when he slipped an arm around her waist and hugged her to his side. He put his lips right next to her ear and whispered excitedly, "I broke the encryption. You'll never guess what I found."

~ O ~

*From the musical _Wicked_, original music and lyrics by Steven Schwartz.


	6. The Rusty Spittoon

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, reviewing, etc. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

If you perceive the heady scent of Dr. Pepper mixed with Red Vines as you read this chapter, it's because the influence of the incomparable **Frea O'Scanlin** permeates it throughout. This chapter and the next were inspired by one of her brilliant Photoshop creations of… well… you'd have to see it to believe it (it's a twist on "Chuck vs. the Cougars" – **catrogue**, you know what I'm talking about). Anyway, thank you, Frea, for always inspiring me.

As always, I give my many thanks to **AgentInWaiting** for his beta work, ideas, suggestions and especially his sense of humour, which is needed when dealing with someone like me. (And yes, I threw that extra "u" in just for him.) Also, he wanted me to warn you that you might not want to be drinking anything during certain parts of this chapter.

This chapter is brought to you by Joe Nichols, Alan Jackson, Julie Brown, The Weather Girls and _Chuck_.

**Chapter 6 – The Rusty Spittoon**

Sarah leaned over Chuck's shoulder and peered at the computer monitor. "After I broke the encryption, I scanned through the spreadsheets to make sure none of the information was still messed up. Then I saw this." Her eyes followed his shaking finger as it pointed to a line in the ledger.

"Frost," she read in a whisper. Her throat tightened.

"Yeah," he choked. He moved his hand from the screen, grabbed the bottle of water that sat at the edge of his desk and sucked down a couple of gulps.

_He's apparently having the same reaction I am_, she thought as she lifted the bottle from his hand and chugged some water. She shook her head when a thought hit her. "How do we know it's your mom? Frost is a common last name."

"That's true, but look at the date," he answered, sitting up straighter. "June, 1990. That's less than a year after my mom left."

"It could be a coincidence," Sarah said gently, pulling her chair around next to Chuck's and sitting down.

He continued to scroll through the spreadsheet. The name "Frost" popped up at regular intervals. Clicking the search box, he typed in the name "Orion" and hit enter. Blue lines outlined the cell that held the entry "Frost/Orion." They both gasped.

"That's not a coincidence," Sarah corrected herself. She looked over at the date of the entry. "April, 1992. Is that the first entry with their names together?" When she didn't get a response, she cut her eyes over to Chuck. Every ounce of blood seemed to have drained from his face. "Chuck, sweetie. Are you okay?"

"I…" He turned and looked into her eyes. What she saw was confusion and hurt and the tiniest bit of hope. "What does it mean? Were they on a mission for the CIA? If they were on a mission, why can't we find anything out about it? Did they go rogue? Were they working for Benoit? I thought he was a bad guy. Why would my parents have been connected with drug dealer? Sarah, I don't understand." His questions tumbled out in a torrent of words.

She placed a calming hand on his arm. "I don't know the answers to any of those really good questions, Chuck." The swirl of emotions on his face made her heart ache for him. "I know this is a lot to take in. What we need to do is look at all of the data and try to see if we can answer any of them."

Hope began to overtake the hurt and confusion in his eyes and a faint smile twitched on his lips. "Do you think we might really get some answers?"

"We may only end up with more questions," she cautioned. "However, I believe you can do anything you put your mind to because you're just that smart." Her fingers gently played with one of the curls at his temple. "But before we do anything else, you need contact Graham, let him know you broke the encryption and get this data to him right away." Her eyes twinkled. "Keeping a copy of it for yourself, of course."

His smile began to take a firmer hold. "Of course." He glanced at his watch. "I just had my briefing with him about an hour ago, but I didn't have any results for him then. Do you think he'll still be in his office?" The second the question passed his lips he rolled his eyes and made an "I can't believe I just said that" face.

"Where _else_ would he be?" she giggled. They grinned at each other, reveling in their inside joke. "Do you want me here with you when you talk to him?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook his head. "No, I don't think you need to be here. I'm just going to tell him I broke the encryption and that I saw a reference to my parents. I'm not sure there's anything else for us to do with this right now."

"If there is, I'm sure he'll tell us."

"Do you think he knows more about my parents than he's saying?" he asked haltingly.

She sucked in some air and let her breath out slowly. The same thing had crossed her mind a moment before. "He might."

His shoulders drooped. "But he won't tell us anything."

Cocking her head, she raised a shoulder and then let it drop. "Yeah. You know how it is. Spies and their secrets."

His eyes cut toward her. "Then why would he give me permission to look through the databases and talk to agents?"

She silently held his gaze.

"Because he knew I wouldn't be able to find anything and give up," he said, answering his own question.

"Maybe," she answered. "We just don't know. Your parents may have dropped off the Agency radar a long time ago and even _it_ doesn't know what happened. This information you just found about them might be new to the Agency, too." She turned her chair so that she faced him. "Let's just take this one step at a time, okay? We'll go crazy if we try to guess who knew what when. We can only work with the pieces of the puzzle we have now. Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay." He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. _I love it when he does that._ "Can we not mention this to the kids for a while? I don't want them to get their hopes up again only to have it maybe go nowhere."

"Of course. I'm a spy. We're good at keeping secrets." Leaning forward, she kissed him and held her face inches from his. "Talk to Graham, but please don't stay in here too long. Mrs. Smith is making a boatload of spaghetti and you need to eat. Besides, the data on those drives will still be there after dinner."

"A 'boatload,' huh? That is a _lot_ of spaghetti."

"Yeah, well, those nephews of ours always eat like it's their last meal."

He smiled and leaned toward her, kissing her again. She began to get lost in the feeling when the door to the office flew open and Carina cried, "Oh my god, you two! Do you ever stop? Every time you're alone for more than two minutes, you start to suck each other's faces!"

Sarah broke the kiss and smirked at Carina over Chuck's shoulder. With his back to Carina, he waggled his eyebrows at his wife and countered, "Two minutes. You're giving us more credit than we deserve. It's usually thirty seconds, forty-five tops, right honey?"

"Oh, yeah. If you would have come in here another minute from now, you'd have caught quite a show," Sarah deadpanned.

Spinning his chair to face Carina, he added, "Why do you think the kids now always knock before coming in the office?"

Carina grimaced, like bile burned at the back of her throat. "Too much information, Chuckie."

Sarah laughed, stood and shoved her chair back into its proper place next to the desk. Reaching out, she caressed Chuck's cheek as she walked by. Carina moved back from the doorway as Sarah stepped out the door and closed it behind her. "I think you two do that just to annoy me."

Eyeing her friend, Sarah said with a grin, "Everyone needs a hobby."

~ O ~

The purple plastic cylindrical mascara tube went "pop" as Sarah pulled the wand from it. She raised her chin slightly and let her eyelids drift half closed. Watching herself in the bathroom mirror, she swept the brush over her lashes. Megan, sitting on the bathroom counter, studied her aunt intently and mimicked the faces Sarah made as she applied her makeup.

"Can I have some mascara, too?" Megan asked.

"Don't you think you're a little young to wear mascara?"

She shook her head. "No, there's a show on TV where little girls wear lots of makeup and go to beauty contests and stuff." Her face glowed. "Sometimes they win crowns."

Sarah stifled a groan. That show was wrong on so many levels, she didn't even know where to start. _What is it about crowns and tiaras anyway?_ "Sorry, but we're not going to be entering you in any beauty pageants."

Megan cocked her head and asked, "How come?"

The mascara brush _twocked_ again. Applying more of the black cream to her lashes, she replied, "Spies keep low profiles, remember? Besides, you would win every time without any makeup. It wouldn't be fair to all the other girls."

Megan's hands flew over her mouth and her eyes sparkled as she giggled.

Sarah smiled at Megan's reaction. Observing her niece as she shoved the wand back into the tube and twisted the top closed, Sarah believed every word she had just uttered. Megan and her sisters were already beautiful and grew more so with each passing day. She sighed at the realization that she and Chuck had many years ahead of them of beating the boys back from their door with sticks. _Or maybe nunchucks. My Smith & Wesson might do the trick, too._

She dropped the mascara back into her makeup bag and dug through it, looking for her lipstick. Pulling a tube out, she turned to Megan and said, "Here, go like this." Sarah opened her mouth slightly and relaxed her lips. Megan complied and her eyes grew wide when Sarah twisted off the cap and withdrew the wand from the tube. She brushed a little of the gel across Megan's lower lip. "Okay, now go like this," Sarah demonstrated pressing her lips together.

"Is that real lipstick?" Megan breathed in awe as she craned around to look at herself in the mirror.

"No, it's just clear lip gloss," she replied, tossing the tube back into the bag.

"But you just said I didn't need any makeup."

"You don't." She smiled and touched her finger to Megan's nose, "But a girl's got to have _some_ fun."

Megan grinned and admired her shiny lips in the mirror.

"Just as long as you don't have _too_ much fun," Chuck said as he sauntered toward the bathroom. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. "Especially without me."

Her heart skipped a beat when she glanced at him in the mirror saw the open admiration on his face. _He sure is good for my ego. _She held his gaze and said, "You know I'm only doing this for Carina and that I'd rather stay here with you."

"I know. I'm just teasing. I hope you have a good time."

Lipstick applied, she lifted Megan off the counter and set her on her feet. She patted his chest as she scooted past him and fought a vague feeling of dread as she replied, "Me, too."

Chuck and Megan trailed out of the bathroom behind her. They sat on the end of the bed and watched her put on a pair of earrings. Dropping her hands, she stood before them and asked, "Do I look appropriately dressed for a place called 'The Rusty Spittoon?'" She was dressed casually in blue jeans, black knee high boots and a blue knit top.

Chuck nodded. "You look great. It's a western place, so some people wear cowboy hats and boots, but it's not a requirement or anything."

She squinted at him. "I take it you've been there before."

"Well, I… there was this… once a…" he babbled and swayed slightly.

"What's the matter, Uncle Chuck? You look funny."

"Yeah, Uncle Chuck," Sarah said with a wry smile. "Who'd you go to the Rusty Spittoon with?"

"I was… It was a long time…" He snapped his mouth shut and stared at her, wide-eyed. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

"Ha! Nice save, Mr. Bartowski," she laughed, bestowing on him a dazzling grin. "Just for that, I'm going to let you off the hook. For now." She chucked him under the chin with her finger. "But I want to hear about this later."

He returned her grin with a brilliant one of his own. "No, you really don't, Mrs. Bartowski."

"I have ways of making people talk," she teased. "But in the meantime," she turned around and held out her hands out behind her for each of them to grab, "let's go find Miss Carina."

Holding hands, Megan went through the doorway first, followed by Sarah and then Chuck. They slowly descended the stairs together and when they reached the living room they found Carina sitting on the couch chatting with Lizze, Lisa and Fred.

Carina stood and asked, "You ready to go?"

Sarah slipped on her leather jacket and snagged her purse. "Yup. Let's go."

They headed for the front door. "You're not taking your car, Sarah?" Chuck asked, following closely behind her.

"No, Agents Vegas and Barstow are driving us. They're going to be there, too. Surveillance, just in case. With Carina needing to be under the radar, Vegas and Barstow will be watching our backs. Agents Cole and Barker will be here in the van protecting you and the kids."

"Are they going to sit with you at your table?"

Stopping at the front door, she turned and replied, "No. It wouldn't be much of a 'bachelorette party' if men sat with us." She eyed him curiously. "Why?"

Looking a little sheepish, he said softly, "I was hoping that if they sat with you, it would keep other guys from talking to you."

_He's so cute when he's jealous._ "Honey, don't worry. If someone does come to talk to us, I'll tell them I'm married."

Carina grabbed Sarah's left hand and held it inches from his face. "Trust me. This glaring bling on her hand will repel men away from her. You can see this shiny gold band from space."

"Maybe, but it might not be enough to warn some guys off," Chuck argued.

Sarah pointed at herself. "Highly trained CIA agent, remember? I know ten different ways to break a man's finger and make it look like an accident."

Sarah watched as his eyes grow wide. "That's both unbelievably frightening and incredibly hot."

She grinned at her husband and shot him a wink.

Carina waved a dismissive hand. "That works better for me anyway. Sarah will be the undesirable married lady and I get to be the available single friend."

"Hey," Sarah exclaimed quietly. "Who are you—"

Chuck cut her off when he yanked Sarah to him and crushed her body to his. "I'll show you 'undesirable,'" he growled. The burning kiss he planted on her made everything else fade away and her mind went completely blank. The annoying noise of Carina repeatedly clearing her throat finally pulled her back to reality.

"Okay, Chuckles," she heard Carina say through the fog. "You've marked your territory. Can we go now?"

Her legs felt like cooked linguine when he lessened his hold on her. "Now I _really_ don't want to go," she whispered so that only he could hear her.

"That was to make sure you remember what you have here at _home_," he murmured back.

_Well, it sure did the trick._ She nodded mutely.

Carina flung open the front door and dragged Sarah out by her wrist. "Don't worry, Chuckie. I'll take good care of her. Don't wait up!" she called over her shoulder as they headed for the awaiting black SUV.

"Love you!" Sarah called as she was hauled away.

"Love you, too!" he called back.

As they approached the SUV, Agent Barstow jumped out of the passenger seat and opened the door to the rear.

Sarah watched Carina take a step back and give the agent an obvious once-over. "My, aren't you the handsome one in your jeans and fancy western shirt." She gave him a lascivious grin. "You can come sit at our table anytime you want." Putting her face right in front of his, she purred, "Ride 'em cowboy."

He kept his eyes forward, but Sarah noticed the blush of color overtake his cheeks. She couldn't stop the sigh. It was going to be an interesting evening.

Carina disappeared into the back of the vehicle.

Sarah gave him a sincere smile. "Thank you, Agent Barstow."

The agent nodded slightly and replied, "Ma'am."

She stepped close to him and said in a low voice, "Just don't make eye contact with her and you should be okay."

One side of his mouth quirked into a hint of a smile. "Yes, ma'am." After a few seconds he added, "I'll advise Agent Vegas."

She chuckled as she turned and faced the house. Chuck was still standing in the doorway, waving to her. She started to wave back when she heard a muttered, "Oh for—Walker! C'mon!" and was unceremoniously yanked into the car.

~ O ~

Out of habit, Sarah scanned the interior of the Rusty Spittoon, quickly sizing up the crowd, locating exits, and assessing for threats. It was a Thursday night, so the place wasn't particularly crowded. To the left of their table, Sarah saw what she assumed to be a "girls-night-out" birthday party with fifteen young women sitting around a long table. The honoree was easy to spot, as a rhinestone crown sat perched atop her head. _What is it with crowns?_ Most of the seats at the bar were taken and couples or small groups occupied approximately half the tables in the room. Agents Vegas and Barstow had parked themselves at the bar.

It was a typical looking western themed honky-tonk kind of place: the bar ran along most of one wall, a small stage for local acts to perform on took up most of another, and a dance floor sat in the middle of the room with tables and chairs set up around it. Everything was wood, save the lighted signs and neon tubing touting different brands of beer that decorated the walls. She was eternally grateful when she found out that this particular western establishment did not, in fact, have a mechanical bull as that meant there would be no repeat of the situation Carina had thrust her into in Lubbock. Several couples shuffled around the dance floor, dancing the Texas Two Step. She listened to the lyrics of the song they were dancing to. It had something to do with the effects tequila had on a woman and her ability—or rather inability—to keep her clothes on.

A waitress, wearing a low cut red top, a short black skirt and black cowboy boots came up to their table. Her dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail. "Hi, ladies. I'm Tammy. What can I get for ya?"

What Sarah really wanted was a nice glass of white wine, but she figured that would be frowned upon at a place like this, so she said, "I'll just have a beer."

"Beer?" Carina scolded her. "You've got to have something with a little more kick than that, Sarah." She turned and said to Tammy, "My girl here got married recently, so we're here to throw her a bachelorette party."

Tammy smiled at Sarah and said, "Well, that's great. Congratulations! I guess there'll be a couple more joining you then," pointing at the two empty chairs at the table.

"No," Carina answered. "It's just a two of us."

"Oh." Tammy's smile wavered and her eyes grew unsure. "Okay. Well, congratulations anyway," she said awkwardly.

"Thank you," Sarah said. There was a part of her that wanted to explain, but she decided it was more trouble than it was worth.

"Bring us a couple of shots of tequila," Carina said.

"You want salt and lime?" Tammy inquired.

"Yes, we do," she responded enthusiastically and without hesitation.

"Carina, I really just want a beer. That was all I was planning on drinking tonight," Sarah said, hoping to keep the evening from going completely off into the weeds.

"Fine." Carina's eyes twinkled. Sarah knew that look and knew that was not the end of it. "Bring two shots of tequila for me and a beer for my friend."

Addressing Sarah, Tammy, by rote and with lightening speed, rattled off the many different kinds of beer the Rusty Spittoon had bottled and on tap. Sarah spoke a half-dozen languages fluently, could at least understand a handful more and had an excellent memory. Now, however, she sat and stared at the waitress, having not understood ninety percent of what she had just said. Tammy's words had come so fast and tumbled over each other, she only caught a scant few stray syllables here and there. Rather than prolonging the agony and making poor Tammy recite the beer litany again, Sarah said, "I'll have the Alaskan one," repeating one of the words she had caught.

"The Alaskan Amber?"

"Sure, that'd be great," she answered with a smile. _A few sips and I'll be done with it anyway._

When Tammy had said, "I'll be right back with your drinks," she wasn't kidding. It had only been about two minutes when she returned with a plate of lime wedges, another small plate with a pile of salt in the middle of it, two shots of tequila and a beer. Placing them down on the table, she said, "I'll come back and check on you in a few," and moved off to other customers.

"Come on, Sarah," Carina cajoled. "You're not gonna make me drink this tequila all by myself, are you? You know you want that shot," she indicated with her head. "Remember that cantina in Cancun? Those frat boys never had a chance."

Sarah took a sip of her beer and savored the malty brew. Smirking, she said, "Well, I had to win that bet. They told one too many blonde jokes and there was no way I was going to stand on a table and sing, _'Cause I'm Blonde_."

"Ah, yes, a true classic." Carina chuckled. "They never did pay off for losing."

"It's hard to sing _It's Raining Men_ when you're passed out on the floor," she said straight-faced.

"Ha! That would have been pretty spectacular." Carina tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as Sarah took another sip of her beer. "So Chuck hasn't planted his seed in your garden, yet, huh?"

Coughing, Sarah banged the glass on the table. _Ow! _Clamping her hand over her face, she exclaimed, "Oh my god, Carina, you made it go up my nose!"

Carina's eyes flashed. "Bonus!"

"Why would you _say_ something like that?" She rubbed her nose, trying to stop the burn. "His _seed_ in my _garden_?"

"You're drinking alcohol." She shrugged. "I thought maybe you'd only be drinking club soda tonight. Then I would know."

Sarah scowled. "Was coming here some kind of crazy way of finding out if I was _pregnant_? You could have just _asked_."

"Where's the fun in that?" Carina licked the back of her hand between her thumb and forefinger and sprinkled a pinch of salt on it. "I really did want to go out. Finding out if you were pregnant or not was just a fun extra." Holding a lime wedge between her thumb and index finger, she licked the salt and tossed back the tequila shot with the other hand. Then she bit down and sucked on the lime. One eye fluttered as she grimaced and shuddered a little. Finally, she grinned and slammed the empty shot glass on the table. "Don't tell me Chuck's swimmers are more like floaters."

Sarah goggled at her. "I can't believe you just—no, I can. I'm sure Chuck's sw—Chuck is just fine in that department. We've discussed it some and we both feel that—" She held up a hand as if to stop herself. "You know what? I'm not having this conversation with you. This is between me and my husband."

Carina shrugged a shoulder and huffed out a breath.

Sarah's eyes flicked to the tequila shot sitting on the table. The action wasn't lost on Carina. An evil smirk graced her face and with her hand flat on the table, pushed the shot toward Sarah. She taunted her in an ethereal voice, "Driiiiiink iiiiiiit!"

_It _has_ been a long time, and this _is_ my bachelorette party._ She glanced over at Agents Vegas and Barstow, chatting with one of the bartenders. Agent Vegas' eyes flicked to her. He tipped his head slightly, letting her know they were watching. _I'm not driving…_ The corner of her mouth pulled up and a mischievous twinkle sparkled in her eyes. In one quick, fluid movement, she licked the back of her hand, dumped salt on it, licked her hand again, gulped down the shot and bit down on a lime wedge. The shot glass thumped to the table while the liquid burned its way down her throat. She closed both eyes and shook her head. Opening them again, she grinned as she felt her whole body warm.

Carina nodded with approval. Sarah watched as she craned her neck trying to spot Tammy. The waitress got the hint and hurried over to their table. "Two more tequila shots for each of us." Tammy nodded and scurried off. When she returned, she set the drinks down on the table and said, "Two men at the bar send their regards and paid for these."

Assuming the shots came from Vegas and Barstow, Sarah looked over to the end of the bar where they sat, but their backs were turned to them, watching her and Carina in the bar mirror. A wave from a young man who didn't look much older than Wolf, the pizza kid Lizzie had a crush on last summer, caught her attention. Next to him, his friend lifted a shot in salute.

Hoping that Carina was right when she said her wedding rings would act like man repellent she rested her chin in her left hand with her fingers on her cheek. The grins on their faces wavered. Getting the message, they turned back to the bar.

"Aw, come on Sarah. _I_ might want to talk to them," she groused. Tipping her head back, she downed a shot.

"I'm not stopping you. Go right ahead and go over there. Maybe they can tell you where they got their fake IDs." Lick, gulp, bite, slam, shudder.

Carina snickered. "Yeah, they _are_ kinda young." She eyed the backs of the agents at the bar. "Maybe I should go talk to that yummy Agent Barstow."

"He's on duty." Her fingers suddenly felt tingly. "Watching you."

"Only watching? He can throw himself on me anytime he wants," she cooed, eyeing him appreciatively.

"I'm sure he'd be mildly pleased, but mostly terrified to hear that," Sarah giggled. _Coming here is a lot more fun than I thought it would be._

The twang of an electric guitar filled the bar as a song started playing loudly over the speakers. Everyone in the place cheered and headed for the dance floor where they lined up and began dancing. Everyone, that was, except for the four federal agents in the building. That was soon rectified when Carina took Sarah by the wrist and dragged her from the table. "That looks like fun. Let's dance."

She left Sarah at the edge of the dance floor when she made a beeline for Agents Vegas and Barstow. Before they could object, she pulled them off their bar stools and hauled them out onto the floor. They shot Sarah nervous looks, but all she could do was grin and shrug. The four of them lined up next to each other and watched the other dancers as they stepped, turned, clapped, spun again and shimmied as they singer intoned about how tired he was of working all week and just wanted to have a good time.

The dance was fairly simple, so Sarah was quick to learn it and moved along with the regulars. Soon, the other three got the hang of it and all were moving in synch. They stayed out on the floor and danced through three more songs, picking up the steps quickly.

When the tempo of the next song slowed, the dance floor cleared except for a few couples that stayed to slow dance. Carina tried to talk Vegas and Barstow into sitting with them, but they firmly declined, stating that their primary function was surveillance and that would be best done from the bar. Sarah also pointed out that it would be better if they weren't seen as being together so as not to link them to Chuck.

As they made their way back to their table, and Vegas and Barstow went back to the bar, Sarah decided that she and Chuck would have to come here on a date so that she could slow dance with him. Thanks to his sister who had made him take lessons when he was younger, he was an excellent dancer.

Flushed from the exertion, she flopped into her chair and took several gulps from her glass of beer while Carina finished off another tequila shot. Thinking about Chuck made her miss him, so she dug her phone from her purse. It clunked on the table when it slipped out of her hand, causing a giggle to erupt. _Stupid phone_. She smiled to herself as she typed a message. Carina snatched the phone from her hand, which served to only draw Sarah's instant ire.

"Give Chuck back!" she snarled, reaching out and grabbing the phone. She shot Carina a dirty look before finishing her text and sending it.

"You can't even go an hour without talking to him?" she asked before taking a couple of swallows from Sarah's beer.

Her phone blinged and she grinned happily as she read the screen. Slipping the phone back into her purse, she stared defiantly at Carina. "I can, but I choose not to." Lick, gulp, bite, slam.

"Tammy! Two more rounds of shots for me and my homegirl!" Carina shouted to no one in particular. As if by magic, the drinks appeared. Both women immediately took one of the shot glasses in their hands. Lick, gulp, bite, slam. Curling her arm back, Carina put an elbow on the table and rested her chin on her forearm. "Come on, Sarah," she coaxed. "Spill. What's the deal on the hubby?"

Sarah gazed vacantly at her for a long few seconds. "Chuck is the kindest, smartest, handsomest, sexiest, most wonderfully considerate man I've ever met and I love him with all my heart," she said primly. "And you know what else?" She checked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Finding the coast clear, she leaned forward, gave her friend a knowing look and whispered loudly, "The nerd's got some _mooooooves_." She let that sink in. Lick, gulp, bite, slam. She sat back in her chair, feeling pretty good about life. _It must be late. I think I'm tired because my eyes are having a hard time focusing._

Carina's eyes flashed with glee. "I _knew_ it! The big dork really rattles your cage, huh?"

"Mm-hmmm!" she answered emphatically. "And he's a nerd, not a dork."

"Whatever. What I want to know is—" Something caught Carina's eyes that caused her to stop mid-sentence. "Crap!" she growled, ducking her head and shielding her face with her hand.

Sarah stomach dropped and instinctively, she lowered her head. "What's the matter? Is it one of Benoit's men?" Turning her head ever so slightly, she cut her eyes in the direction Carina had just looked. A good-looking man had entered the saloon and stood in the doorway, scanning the place. "Do we need to get out of here?" Glancing toward Vegas and Barstow, Sarah could see they both had tensed and were watching, ready to move if necessary.

"No, it's not that. I hooked up with that guy when I was here in January on my ski trip. He's a ski instructor who thinks he really great." She frowned. "He's not." Keeping her head down, she hissed, "Did he see me?"

Sarah sighed, "Yeah, he's making a beeline for us."

"Aw, crap." Removing her hand, Carina plastered on a fake smile and said, "Bob! How nice to see you again. This is my friend, Sarah."

Bob gave Sarah a lecherous once over that made her skin crawl. "Well, hello, Sarah. It's nice to meet you. Why haven't I ever seen you here before?"

Before she could say anything, Carina spoke up. "Sarah got married recently and we're here tonight for her bachelorette party. We'd love to have you sit with us, but 'no boys allowed.'"

"Oh, okay." He didn't move away, instead eying the lime rinds strewn across the table and the new shots, which had magically appeared again. He looked at Carina and whined, "How come you never called me?"

_Dude. Don't be clingy_.

Carina released a gusty sigh. "I was out of the country and just got back."

"She'll be leaving again, soon," Sarah added. _Much like I hope you'll be doing, Bob._

Uninvited, Bob sat down in an empty chair. "Carina, I can't stop thinking about you. You… You're the most incredible woman I've ever met. I can't get you out of my mind." He took out a pen, scribbled his phone number on a napkin and slid it toward her. "Even if you only have a few minutes, I'd love to get together with you while you're still here."

_Way to go, Bob. That ought to scare the crap out of her and send her running, screaming in the other direction._

Carina took the napkin, smiling benevolently at him, and folded it up and shoved it in her bra. Sarah barely kept a guffaw in as she watched his Adam's apple bob as he gulped. "Bachelorette party going on here, Bob," her friend said, waving her hands, dismissing him.

His brows knit together. "But… it's just the two of you. There's no presents, no balloons, no cake."

"Who are you, Bob? Martha friggin' Stewart, Bob?" Carina barked. "Would it make it more of a party if she had a crown on, Bob, like that chick over there, Bob?" she growled, hitching her thumb in the direction of the birthday party.

"Bob, I think it might be best if you left," Sarah suggested. Angry Carina was not something he, nor anyone else for that matter, would ever be prepared for.

"Fine, Bob. I'll get my friend here a crown so you can see we're actually having a party." Digging in her purse, Carina took out her wallet, grabbed a bunch of bills from it and waved them in front of Bob's stricken face. "As a matter of fact, Bob, I'll go over there right now and buy that crown off that woman's head!"

_Oh boy_. "Carina, that's really not necessary. I don't want—" Sarah tried to say before she was cut off.

"No, Sarah, Bob thinks you need a crown." Lick, gulp, bite, slam. "You're gettin' a friggin' crown!" she snarled, her eyes sparking.

Bob looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"This isn't going to end well, Bob," Sarah said quietly as she watched Carina stalk off toward the birthday party table. "This isn't going to end well at all."

Lick, gulp, bite, slam.


	7. Repercussions

**A/N the first**: Thank you so much for reading this story. To those who take the time to leave reviews, I hope you know how much I appreciate them. I love getting feedback. Thank you.

**AgentInWaiting** continues to amaze me with his insights, suggestions and overall awesome beta skills. Thank you, sir.

I'd also like to take the opportunity to congratulate my friend, **Frea O'Scanlin,** on the impending completion of her magnum opus, _What Fates Impose_. It is an achievement for any writer to finish a story. To finish one that has the grand scope and scale that _Fates_ has in both length and emotion is nothing short of astonishing. Thank you for telling us this amazing story, Frea.

And now from the sublime to the ridiculous…

**Chapter 7 – Repercussions**

Chuck and Casey arrived at the Eagle county jail at three a.m. Chuck asked the deputy on duty about posting bail. Rather than replying, the deputy directed them to sit in the molded plastic chairs until further notice.

"Well, this is a real cluster," Casey grumbled. "It's three o'clock in the morning and we're here because your wife and her wayward friend got arrested. Why can't you control your woman?"

"My—my _woman_? Really, Casey?" Chuck gave him an appraising look. "Like how you 'controlled' Carina in Prague?"

Casey tried a laser stare to intimidate him, but it didn't work. Chuck returned Casey's glare with a serene smile. "We'll always have Prague, Johnny," he said to the big man quietly.

"Shut it, Bartowski."

Silence reigned over the room as they waited, except for the occasional rustle of turned pages as the deputy perused a magazine. Casey prowled around like a caged tiger, going from looking at the mug shots of Colorado's most wanted criminals to staring at the selection of food available in the vending machines, and grousing under his breath that fruit was not "the stuff God intended" to have in said machines.

Leaning forward, Chuck rested his chin in his heels of his palms and his elbows on his knees, and stared absently at the floor. A design in the square of linoleum between his chucks looked a little like an AT-AT.

His head snapped up when he heard the orange door with the long, thin rectangular window open. A squat female deputy, carrying two plastic bins walked through the door, followed by Sarah, Carina and finally another deputy. Chuck immediately stood and let out a relieved breath when he saw that his wife was okay, although he was a bit concerned about the cut at the corner of her bottom lip. The fluorescent lighting did nothing for her complexion; it made her look washed out. The smudged mascara under her eyes didn't help, either.

He watched her closely as she shuffled toward the desk. Her eyes were mostly lowered to the floor, but when they flicked up to his, he could tell immediately that she was completely and utterly mortified by her current predicament. Her eyes dropped again as he and Casey met them. The deputy with the bins set them on the desk, turned and disappeared with the other deputy behind the orange door.

The desk officer looked at the name scrawled on the top of one of the bins. "Which one of you is Sarah Bartowski?"

"That's me," she answered in a tired voice.

He slid her bin toward her. "Please go through you personal effects and make sure everything is accounted for," he instructed while at the same time pushing Carina's bin at her.

Chuck stood next to her as she lifted the lid, revealing her belongings. She grabbed her wallet, opened it, flipped through it to make sure everything was still there, closed it and shoved it in her the empty purse. Following the wallet into the purse went her keys, lipstick and phone. While she was busy refilling her purse, Chuck took the large manila envelope lying at the bottom of the bin, opened it and peered down inside. Tipping the envelope caused the contents to slide into his awaiting palm. He plucked the earrings and wristwatch from his hand and shoved them into his pocket. What remained in his open palm were her engagement ring and wedding band. Without a word, he reached out his right hand, took her left hand and slid onto her finger first the gold band and then the diamond ring. He gave her hand a little squeeze before he released it. Her eyes glistened when she gave him a grateful smile.

The bin was nearly empty when Chuck peeked inside again, spying his wife's throwing knives still safely tucked in the slots of the holster. He knew that she was never completely dressed unless she had them strapped to her ankle or thigh. A tiny smile danced on his lips when he remembered how she had even worn them on their wedding day and her delight when he found them on her leg rather than the garter he was searching for. She lifted the knives from the bin and handed them to him. He was a little surprised that they weren't confiscated, but that wasn't his call. He swiftly slid them into the pocket of his jacket.

The thing he did not expect to see in the bin was a rhinestone crown. His eyebrows shot up in question, but he stayed silent when she snatched it from the container and jammed it into her purse.

In a bored voice, the officer asked both Carina and Sarah, "Do you have everything you came here with?"

"Yes," they mumbled together.

The deputy handed each of them a "Ski Vail" pen and pointed on a sheet where to sign. Each scribbled their signatures on the papers and dropped the pens on the desk. "You can keep the pens as mementoes of your stay here in Eagle county."

Carina opened her mouth to reply, but a jab to the ribs from Casey stopped her. She glowered at him, but then simply said, "Thank you."

"You're free to go."

Surprised, Chuck asked, "What about bail?"

The deputy looked up at him and replied in a monotone, "The charges have all been dropped. Call came in from way higher up the food chain than me. You're free to go," he repeated.

"Bartowski," Casey hissed quietly. "Let's go."

Chuck glanced over to Casey and saw him snap his head toward the door. He placed his hand on the small of Sarah's back and guided her toward the door. The other two spies followed behind them.

"Chuck, get them in the car. I'll be back in a minute," Casey directed, as he walked quickly over to another black SUV parked nearby. Chuck saw the window lower and the face of Agent Vegas appear.

The car alarm chirped and the headlights flashed twice as the vehicle unlocked. Chuck hurried ahead and opened the passenger doors to Casey's SUV. Carina flopped into the front seat with Sarah sitting directly behind her in the rear. Walking around the back of the car, he slid into the seat next to Sarah.

A moment later, Casey jumped into the driver's seat and the engine roared to life. Throwing it into gear, he maneuvered out of the parking lot as quickly as was prudent, given that the lot was full of law enforcement vehicles.

Chuck snuck a peek at Sarah, who kept her head down. Her hair, which was stringier than he had ever seen it, fell forward and covered her face. He tugged gently on a lock and said softly, "What do you have to say for yourself, missy?"

Even though it was dark, he could see her eyes peering at him through her hair. She was an adorable mess. He was going for a sympathetic look, but was pretty sure it wasn't working. It was hard not to laugh.

"I thought you might be disappointed in me," she said tentatively.

He couldn't suppress the smile. "No. I'm not disappointed." He reached out and tucked the stringy strands of hair behind her ear so he could see her face. "Although, I have to admit I was surprised to get your call from _jail_." She covered her face with a hand and groaned. "You gave me fair warning about what can happen when you and Carina go out, though, so I can't be _too_ shocked." He watched as her body relaxed. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently.

"Chuck, I—" she started but was cut off by Carina piping up from the front seat, "It was the birthday bitch's fault. All I wanted to do was buy her crown." Five seconds later she said, "No, it was Bob's fault."

_Crown? What the hell?_ "Bob! Who's Bob?"

Sarah leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. "Bob's a guy Carina met when she was here in January. He happened to be at the Rusty Spittoon tonight." After a beat, she added, "It's a small town."

Chuck watched his wife and waited patiently for the story to continue. After a minute of silence, he wondered if she had fallen asleep.

She jerked forward suddenly and cried in a panic, "What about the kids? Who's with them if the two of you are here?"

"Don't worry," Chuck answered in a soothing tone. "They're fine. I woke Lizzie up to tell her that you and Carina needed some help and that I'd be gone for a while. Once I convinced her that you weren't in the hospital, she said she would help out in case any of the other kids needed anything. I also told Agents Cole and Barker the kids would be home alone, so they parked the van right outside the house."

Sarah groaned again and rested her head back. "The kids are gonna hate me."

"No, they're not," he stated.

Turning to Casey, Carina complained, "I offered her twenty bucks for that crown, but she said no. So, I offered her forty."

"Are you sure the kids won't hate me?" Sarah asked.

"'It's a great deal,' I told her," Carina continued. "'It's not worth forty bucks,' I said."

"Sweetie, I'm positive. They'll be very understanding and probably pretty entertained."

"You know what she called me? She called me a skank!" Carina growled. When Casey snickered at her, he received an emphatic punch on the arm.

"I told you I didn't want a crown," Sarah said to Carina, while pulling out said object from her purse. "What is the _deal_ with crowns, anyway?" she grumbled softly.

Chuck's brow furrowed. He really had no idea what they were talking about. "Why did this Bob guy tell you to get a crown?"

"She called me a skank, Casey, but I let it go," Carina said, full of magnanimity.

"Yeah, but Crown Girl didn't appreciate it when you grabbed it off her head," Sarah said.

"But I threw fifty bucks on the table for it! I don't care what she said, I didn't steal it."

"Is that what they arrested you for?" Chuck asked.

"No," Sarah answered quietly.

They rode in silence for a moment. Finally, Chuck said, "I'm still confused about the crown."

"I think you showed great restraint, Sarah, even after Crown Girl threw water in your face."

Sarah let out a snort. "She did get really mad when you jammed the crown on my head."

"Sorry her friend got in that lucky punch. I was distracted."

"I know. We both were. It's okay," she replied softly.

Chuck winced when he watched Sarah gingerly probe the cut on her lip with her fingers. "Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

She gave him a weak smile. "Not much. I've had worse."

Reaching out, he ran his thumb over the cut. He could feel that her lip was swollen, too. "We'll put some ice on it when we get home."

Carina turned in her seat and with her chin down, looked at Chuck. To him, it appeared like she was staring at him through the top of her head, a sign that she was still a bit tipsy.

"You're a good guy, Chuck. Good for our Sarah," she said.

"Thank you, Car—"

"But if you hurt her, I'll rip yer throat out."

Chuck felt his eyes widen. That comment seemed to come from left field, but when it came to Carina, he realized that his wife was right when she had described her friend as "unpredictable." Not wanting to raise the ire of partially drunk federal agent who could hurt him in more ways than he could possibly imagine, he nodded and made sure his voice conveyed the appropriate amount of solemnity. "Duly noted."

Her rather unfocused gaze stayed on him for another half minute or so. Then, seemingly satisfied that her point had been made, she suddenly whirled forward in her seat. Chuck heaved an audible sigh of relief, feeling like he had just stared into the gaping maw of an angry grizzly bear and lived to tell about it.

For her part, Sarah seemed to have not heard the exchange between her husband and her friend. As if nothing else had been said, Sarah continued the story. "The rest of them sort of left me alone after they watched me bring the one who punched me to her knees with a wrist lock." Sighing, she added, "It was a simple restraint move. I didn't want to hurt her. Unfortunately, that was right when the cops showed up."

"Yeah, and I had Crown Girl in a hammerlock, so it looked like we were the aggressors. The cops arrested us for disorderly conduct."

"Even though we never threw a punch," Sarah interjected. "It also worked against us that Crown Girl's brother was one of the deputies who showed up." She breathed a sigh. "Like I said, it's a small town."

"The two of you could have taken them all out," Chuck stated, "even with a fair amount of alcohol in you." Pride swelled within him when he thought about how his kickass ninja spy wife didn't want to hurt the women coming at her in a bar fight.

"We didn't have _that_ much alcohol in us," she replied. "But, yeah, we could have taken them all out."

Chuck saw Casey's head nod. "But you didn't hurt any civilians. Nice work."

"Thanks," both she and Carina replied.

Quiet descended once more. Chuck glanced out the window and noted that they were nearing the off ramp that would take them back to their house. He still wondered about Bob and the crown, but at this point, he wasn't sure he'd ever really get the whole story.

"You're right, Carina," Sarah said suddenly. "This all really was Bob's fault. Why did he have to be so judgmental about our bachelorette party?"

"I am _so_ not calling him," Carina grumbled, taking the napkin with Bob's phone number out of her bra, tearing it up into pieces and tossing them into the air. As they fluttered all over the inside of Casey's car, he snarled, "I'm gonna make you clean that up later."

"You and what army?" she answered defiantly.

Sensing danger, Chuck realized he needed to change the subject—or perhaps get back to the subject of what had happened that evening. "Where were Agents Vegas and Barstow during this…" he searched his brain for the right word.

"Fracas," Casey supplied.

"Yes, fracas. Thank you, Casey."

Sarah's eyes were closed again as she answered in a drowsy voice, "They were helping with crowd control until the cops showed. They didn't want to look like they were with us."

"They're good agents," Casey said, slowly driving up the long and winding road toward the house. "They followed you when you were taken in and parked in the lot to wait for us."

"I'll have to thank that yummy Agent Barstow personally," Carina murmured, also sounding sleepy. Chuck made a mental note to warn the man as soon as possible.

Casey slowed the SUV and brought it to a stop in front of the house. Both women had grown silent several minutes before as they finished their drive. Chuck glanced at his watch. It was four o'clock.

"Casey, why don't you crash in our guest bedroom?" Chuck said quietly.

"What, Bartowski, you don't want to take care of two half-drunk women by yourself?"

_Busted_. "No, Casey. I don't."

"Yeah, I'll stay. I'll make sure Red doesn't break her neck going down to the basement." Casey's eyes glared at him in the rear view mirror. "You owe me," he said in a vaguely threatening voice. "Big time."

Chuck nodded vigorously. "Yes, I do."

The sound of the car's doors opening and closing and the overhead light blinking on, off and on again did nothing to rouse the lethargic women. Chuck reached across his wife, unbuckled her seatbelt and rubbed his thumb across her cheek. "Honey, can you wake up a little?" She stirred. Her eyelids drifted half open and she mumbled incoherently.

"I'll take that as a yes," he whispered to himself as he snagged her purse from the floorboard and slid her from the car. With one of his arms firmly around her waist and one of her arms crooked around his neck, they made their way toward the house, Sarah still carrying the crown.

Casey wasn't nearly as gentle with Carina as Chuck was with Sarah. "Wake up, Miller," he said, shaking her shoulder. This action provoked Carina into cursing a blue streak that shattered the quiet and echoed in the still, early morning air. Although their closest neighbors were a fair distance away, Chuck cringed at how every noise—and curse word—was magnified at this time of the morning.

Chuck and Casey half dragged, half carried their stumbling charges into the dark house—Casey taking Carina to the basement and Chuck helping Sarah up to their room.

At the top of the stairs, they met Lizzie, concern and curiosity written on her face. "Is she okay?" she whispered.

"Yeah, she's fine."

"I'm just tired," Sarah murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

It was dark, but he could still see Lizzie's eyebrow arch.

"Is everything okay here?" Chuck whispered. "Did anyone wake up?"

"No, it's all good," Lizzie answered quietly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yeah, actually," he said. "Could you go to the kitchen and get a bottle of water from the fridge and one of the cold packs from the freezer?" Given the number of bumps, scrapes, bruises and assorted injuries seven active children could have, it was always well stocked with the first aid staple.

Lizzie was already half way down the stairs when she said quietly, "I'll get a dish towel to wrap it in."

They made it down the hall and into their bedroom. His side of the bed was rumpled from where he had lain, reading, waiting for her to come home. Her side was still made, so he maneuvered himself so that he could help her stay upright and at the same time toss the covers back. Once the bottom sheet was exposed, he turned and sat her on the side of the bed.

"Chuck, I just want to lay down."

"In a minute," he said as he knelt on the floor, pulled off her boots, and tossed them into a corner with a _thunk_.

Lizzie scurried into the room with the requested items and dropped them on the bed. "Thanks, Liz." He gave his oldest niece, so much like her mother, a grateful smile. "You go ahead and go back to bed."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything else." With that, she disappeared out the door and down the hall.

"Sweetie, before you go to sleep, I need you to drink some water," he said, twisting off the cap and handing her the bottle. She complied as best she could, given the fat lip. A trickle of water dribbled down her chin and spilled onto her top. Lifting the bottle from her hand, he set it on the nightstand and said quietly, "Hands up." Once again, she complied, putting the tiara down beside her as he pulled her top off over her head and flung it into the corner on top of the boots. He smiled a little as it reminded him of when he would help a sleepy Megan get ready for bed when she was a toddler.

Thoughts of getting her into any kind of sleepwear vanished when she fell over sideways, one side of her face disappearing into her pillow. He lifted her legs onto the bed and peeled off her jeans, adding them to the pile in the corner. Her breathing was deep and steady before he even had a chance to pull the comforter over her and the crown she was again clutching. Once he had done that, he wrapped the cold pack in the towel and lay down next to her. Lying on his side, he propped his head in his hand and gently held the compress to her swollen lip.

As he listened to her breathing, he let his mind wander. Frowning in the dark, he thought, _What _is_ the deal with crowns?_

~ O ~

For a brief moment, Sarah thought she had been captured by Fulcrum and was being tortured. _What is that horrible bright light?_ She squeezed her eyes tight against the offending brightness, trying to save her retinas from certain blistering.

After a moment, she realized the good news was that she was at home in bed. The bad news was that she felt "mostly dead." She was terribly thirsty and her tongue had adhered itself to the roof of her mouth. Dislodging it, she moved it around and across her teeth, trying to remove what felt like a layer of fuzz. She was pretty sure her breath could curl the paint on a wall.

Against her better judgment, and only because her dehydrated body begged for relief, she squinted against the brilliance, hoping to find something to drink. When she saw the half-full water bottle on her nightstand, she wanted to shout for joy. She didn't, however, knowing it was a bad idea on so many levels. Propping herself up on an elbow, she ignored the dull ache in her head, grabbed the bottle, drained it and flopped back on the mattress. That helped, but she would need more soon as her body had soaked up the moisture like a dry, cracked desert landscape absorbed a raindrop.

Like tiles of a mosaic, bits and pieces of what had taken place the night before drifted into her consciousness, slowly forming a complete picture: the Rusty Spittoon, tequila shots, line dancing, a rhinestone crown, a punch to the mouth, jail. Gently touching the cut on her lip, she found it wasn't as swollen as she thought it would be. Putting her hand back down on the bed, it alighted on something squishy bundled in a towel. Picking it up and unwrapping it, she saw it was one of the cold compresses they stored in the freezer for the kids' boo-boos. _Chuck_.

It was as if her thinking of him acted as a summons when he opened the door just enough for him to poke his head into the room. Seeing that she was awake, his face split into a huge grin. _He must really love me if he can smile at me like that when I look like this_. Despite how bad she had felt when she first woke up, seeing his dazzling smile made her feel better. A smile of her own appeared.

"Good morning, princess," he said as he carried a large glass of orange juice and a slice of cinnamon raisin toast to her and sat down next to her on the side of the bed. The toast smelled surprisingly tempting.

Sitting up, her covers slipped down, revealing that she only wore a bra. "If we weren't married, this would be really awkward right now," she said before chugging the juice. The ache in her head was annoying, but not debilitating.

"Maybe for you. For me? I'd be doing a little happy dance on the inside." He bounced his eyebrows. "Kinda like I'm doing right now."

Her failed smirk turned into a pleased smile. _He's so adorable_. She set the glass of juice on the nightstand, snatched the toast off the plate and took a bite. It tasted heavenly. Leaning forward, she kissed him on the cheek.

"What's that for?"

"For taking such good care of me." She held up the now not so cold compress and said, "My lip isn't as swollen as I thought it would be. Did you hold this on my lip when I was asleep?"

He popped a shoulder in a quick shrug. "You would have done the same for me."

_Yes, I'd do anything for you_. "No one's ever done anything like that for me before," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"Get used to it, sweetheart." His eyes were soft when he added, "For better or for worse, remember?" He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted her head so he could examine her lip. "Does this hurt?" He delicately kissed the cut.

Her eyes closed, reveling in his tenderness. "No," she breathed. "And you can do that whenever you want."

He smiled. "I'll remember that."

"You'd better," she murmured.

Still holding her chin, he stared at her lip again. "You've got some nice colors coming in. The kids will be impressed."

Her eyes flew open. "The kids! What are we going to tell them?" She put a hand over her face. "Oh god, Chuck. This is so embarrassing."

His eyebrows shot up. "Embarrassing? Sarah, do you really have no idea how awesome you are? You're the cool aunt who got in a bar fight. All the other kids will be jealous."

"Don't tease me." She gently shoved his shoulder. "I'm serious."

"So am I." Gazing into his face, she could see that he was. "Okay, maybe getting into a scuffle in a bar isn't something we want our kids to do, but when they know the circumstances, they'll be impressed."

"How do you figure that?" she asked before she took another bite of toast.

"You never threw a punch."

"Yeah, but I got _arrested_." She was still mortified at that fact. "What do we tell them about that?"

"We tell them the truth. They'll understand." His eyes bored into hers. "Trust them, okay?"

Heaving a sigh, she nodded. "Okay."

"Now, do you want your crown before you address your subjects or shall it remain here for safekeeping?"

"My…?"

"Crown." Chuck answered while he opened her nightstand drawer and drew out the tiara. "I put it in here so it wouldn't get crushed."

Sarah eyed the object warily and then looked back at her husband who was trying not to shake with laughter. She finally sighed. _It's going to be a long day._

~ O ~

By the time she showered and put on clean clothes, she felt like a regular person. Chuck had brought her another bottle of water, which she downed while getting dressed. She had a lot of experience with covering up bruises with makeup, so the only visible indication of her altercation was the cut. On the inside, however, she felt a vague sense of dread. Facing the kids with a cut on her lip and an almost criminal record was not something she was looking forward to.

All the kids were up, dressed and sitting in the living room when she made her way down the stairs. Carina was there, too, looking none the worse for wear. _Figures. The woman is immune to hangovers._ As she came into earshot, she heard her friend say, "For two months I lived at that dictator's compound, my every whim his – "

Sarah cleared her throat and said, "_Thank you_, Miss Carina. I'm sure you can finish your story another time."

Turning as one, the kids saw her and shouted, "Aunt Sarah!" and all started talking over each other.

"Miss Carina told us what happened last night!"

"Did you really go to jail?"

"Can we see your mug shot online?"

"We heard you got punched in the mouth!"

"Whoa! Look at that cool cut on your lip!"

She couldn't help but grin. _Chuck was right. Never underestimate the cool factor of a bar fight. _

"How come you didn't hit them back?" That question pierced through her soul. _Megan_. She knew she had to address this right away. Martie, who sat next to her sister, nodded, her face questioning as well. She went straight to them and knelt down. Her two youngest looked hurt and confused. It made her stomach clench.

"Miss Carina and I didn't hit back because we didn't want to hurt anyone. It was all a misunderstanding."

"But they hurt you. And you know how to hurt them back," Megan said.

"Yes, we all—Miss Carina, Uncle Casey and me— know how to hurt people, really badly if we have to. But we only do it when we really have to—if bad people are trying to hurt innocent people."

"You mean like that bad man who tried to hurt Uncle Chuck and you had to shoot him?" Martie asked, her face clearly showing that she was trying to understand.

She gently placed a hand on Martie's knee. "Yeah, like that. But this time, these people weren't bad like the man trying to hurt Uncle Chuck. They were just mad." Something clicked in her brain. Turning back to Megan, she took one of Megan's hands in her own. "Remember that time you got really mad at Fred for taking Spy Barbie and holding her over his head so you couldn't reach her?"

The frown was both fierce and immediate. She shot her brother an angry look. He unabashedly grinned back at her.

"Do you remember what you did?"

"I got so mad, I kicked him in the leg and then tried to hit him." Still glowering, she muttered, "I should have flipped him."

Sarah stopped herself from snorting at that last comment. "What did Fred do when you tried to hit him?"

"I remember," Martie spoke up. "He put his arm around her waist and picked her up off the ground." Megan continued to silently glare at her brother. It was clearly not a happy memory for her.

"Right. Megan was kicking her feet and trying to punch him, but she couldn't because he kept her from being able to do it. He kept her from hurting him anymore."

Sarah turned Megan's face toward hers with her finger. The little girl's eyes tore away from her brother and looked into hers. Sarah asked, "When he kept you from hurting him, did he hurt you?"

Megan's eyes looked unsure and her frown lost its intensity. "No."

"He's a lot bigger and stronger than you, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"And he could've really hurt you if he'd wanted to, right?"

Megan nodded. "But he didn't. He didn't want to hurt me."

"Exactly. That's what happened last night. The people were really upset, like you were. Miss Carina and I—even though we could have—didn't want to hurt them." The scowl on Megan's face completely disappeared. "We kept them from hurting us without hurting them, just like Fred did with you."

"I'm glad you didn't hurt them, Aunt Sarah," Martie said.

"Me, too," Megan agreed quietly. She looked at Fred with uncertainty, as if realizing that as much as he tortured her, he cared about her. The look passed quickly and Megan said, "How did you stop them Aunt Sarah? Did you use one of the moves you've taught us?"

Sarah cocked her head and stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. Looking back at Megan, she replied, "As a matter of fact, I haven't taught you those. Maybe we can talk Miss Carina into showing us the move she used and I'll show you the one I used."

All the kids shouted and bounced in their seats, trying to get Carina to agree. A cheer went up when she did.

"In a little while," Sarah said. She needed the Tylenol she took just before she came downstairs to kick in. "Are your beds made?"

Guilty eyes shifted from face to face.

Chuckling, she said, "Go, make your beds and then change into your workout clothes. Meet us in the basement in half an hour."

The kids jumped up. "Hey, Bridget!" Curtis yelled. "Do you want to make my bed before or after you make yours?"

Bridget groaned as they headed up the stairs. "I'll make it after I make mine. Do me a favor, would ya? Open a window in there for awhile first."

"Nah!" Curtis laughed. "I'm gonna take my shoes and socks off and wave my feet in the air."

"You're gross."

Sarah smiled as she watched the kids tromp up the stairs. The smile faded when she saw the gaping stare Carina was giving her. She touched her fingers to her lip. "I covered the bruise the best I could. The cut is still—"

"I don't give a rat's ass about your cut. I hardly recognized you just now, Walker. You're like a 'kid whisperer.'"

"What? Getting them to go make their beds? That's not—"

"No. That whole thing with the munchkin," she said, vaguely waving her hands around. "You got all parent-y. It was like I was watching an Afterschool Special."

"Ha! I'm just trying to keep her from getting in trouble, that's all," Sarah laughed, "and becoming like you."

Carina narrowed her eyes. "She'd be lucky if she grew up to be like me."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you're a regular St. Francis of Assisi."

"Kids and animals. They love me."

"And I'm not the 'kid whisperer.' That's Chuck."

"Well, you did a pretty good imitation, then."

She shrugged but said nothing. What Carina had pointed out made her feel pretty good, though. She apparently was learning how to be a parent whether she realized it or not. "I need coffee. Have you had any?"

Carina nodded.

"Have you seen Casey yet this morning?"

"Yeah, he was on his way out for a run just as I came upstairs. He grumbled something about not wanting to be around us 'hangover hellions' when we got up. I guess he doesn't remember that he was the one with the massive hangover in Prague, not me," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye.

"I don't even want to know," Sarah replied, heading for the kitchen.

"What's Chuckie doing all barricaded in his office?"

"He's doing some research and analysis on the Benoit spreadsheets he decrypted," she hedged as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She and Chuck had decided not to tell anyone else what they found on the spreadsheets about Frost and Orion, so she hoped Carina would drop the subject.

"Sexy," Carina deadpanned.

Sarah smiled as she sipped her coffee and saw her husband walking toward her. "And here's my hero now," she said, slipping her arm around his waist. He draped his arm over her shoulders and kissed her temple.

"How's my jailbird?"

"Funny," she said with a hip-check. "The charges got dropped though, right?"

"Yeah, they did. The deputy said he got a call from some higher ups, telling them to drop everything," Chuck supplied.

Sarah's stomach dropped. She didn't remember that information. _Crap_. "Do you think it was Graham? If it was, he's going to read me the riot act," she groaned.

"It was Beckman," Casey said, joining them. He was red faced and breathing hard. Stalking straight to the refrigerator, he grabbed a bottle of water and emptied it a few gulps.

Her head snapped around to look at him. "How did Beckman know? I assumed Vegas and Barstow called Graham right away."

Tossing the empty bottle into the sink, he wiped his mouth with his shoulder and said, "No, they called me as soon as the sh—" he paused and looked around, "stuff hit the fan. They said they were going to follow you two. I made a couple of phone calls before Chuck came by to pick me up."

"You don't know how proud I am that _I_ was your phone call from jail," Chuck said with a twinkle in his eye.

Smirking, she pecked him on the lips. "You'll _always_ be my phone call," she purred.

Casey growled in disgust while Carina made a gagging sound.

_That never gets old_. A terrible thought struck her suddenly. "What about our mug shots? The kids asked if they could see them online. Can they do that?" She frowned and looked at Carina. "It's a long shot, but if Benoit sees it, that's trouble for us and you."

"Shouldn't be an issue," Casey said. "Beckman told me she'd have one of her egghead computer geeks to hack into the system here and delete every trace of the arrest."

"I can hack into the system, too, and make sure it's all gone," Chuck offered.

"I think that's a good—" Sarah started but was interrupted by Fred, who ran in with a laptop under his arm. He skidded to a stop, set the computer on the table and flipped open the top. Bursting with excitement, he crowed, "Check this out!" They clustered around him.

Sarah had a bad feeling when she saw a paused video entitled, "Two Hot Chicks Who Rule All" on the screen. Fred clicked the play icon and the jumpy, grainy video, which had clearly been uploaded from a phone, showed her, still wearing the crown, and Carina subduing their attackers. Male voices in the background could easily be heard saying things like, "the redhead can put me in a headlock any day of the week," and "they're, like, really hot ninjas."

One of the voices asked, "What exactly happened?"

Another voice on the video started singing:

(sung to the tune "Some Fun Now"*)

So Blondie's at this bar  
>Came to drink a bit, not go too far.<br>Then the redhead went a tad bizarre  
>She started a bar fight and holy cow!<br>She jammed it on her head  
>Blondie wears the shiny crown.<p>

Shiny crown.  
>Rhinestones!<br>What's she wearing?  
>Glitzy crown.<br>Sparkly!  
>She's a wearing that crown now.<br>Blingy!  
>Ain't she hot in that crown now?<br>That crown now?  
>That crown now?<p>

When the video ended after its ninety-four seconds of glory, Sarah groaned, "Oh, god," and dropped her head in her hands.

"I look good in those jeans," Carina said, leaning closer to the screen to get a better look.

"Yeah, that's what we should focus on," Casey snarked. "Not that this video can be seen by a bunch of people who definitely shouldn't know where you are, but on your honky-tonk badonkadonk."

"Did you just..." Fred squinted. "Really, did you..."

"My _ what?"_ Carina asked.

"Her _ what?"_ Sarah asked a split second later.

Chuck looked from one face to the next to the next and then did the last thing they all expected: he fell over, laughing.

"What? It's a song," Casey said defensively over Chuck's laughter.

"Uncle Casey?" Megan poked her head around the corner. A second later, Spy Barbie's head also appeared. "What's a be-tonka-truck?"

The kitchen exploded with the sound of laughter. While the others doubled over with glee, Casey addressed an extremely confused Megan. "It's an all terrain vehicle for GI Joe. I'll get you one." At that, the laughter in the room raised a notch. It was a full three minutes before it waned, during which time the number of views of the video rose precipitously. "It's going viral," Fred said, pointing to the counter.

"I'm on it," Chuck said, heading out the door. "I've got mug shots, arrest reports and an incriminating video to delete."

As they filed out of the kitchen, Megan grabbed Casey's hand and looked up at him. "Uncle Casey, can you tell me more about this be-tonka-truck for Joe? I hope it has as much space to carry stuff as Barbie's car does. She's got a lot of junk in her trunk."

This time, it took much, much longer for the laughter to subside.

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: *From the musical _Little Shop of Horrors_, music by Alan Menken, original lyrics by Howard Ashman.

Credit (or blame, take your pick) where credit is due—Frea is responsible for honky-tonk badonkadonk. And also the pretty mug shots which can be seen, in all their glory at castleinanity dot blogspot dot com and castleinanity dot tumblr dot com.


	8. Nothing More than Feelings

**A/N**: Some of my Twitter friends will recognize a part of today's chapter. You guys know who you are. Heh.

Thanks again for reading, reviewing, tweets, and PM's. It's always a great thing to receive feedback.

Thanks you, **AgentInWaiting**, for your heroic beta work, insights and suggestions.

On with the show…

**Chapter 8 – Nothing More than Feelings**

Sarah stepped out of the bathroom and walked toward their bed, working the hand lotion into her dry skin in her continual fight against the ravages of the arid Colorado air. Chuck was already in bed, propped up against the headboard and a mountain of pillows. He chuckled at the video playing on the laptop sitting on his legs.

"I thought you deleted that stupid video of Carina and me," she said as she pulled the covers back and slipped in beside him. "I'm surprised you don't have it memorized after watching it so many times," she muttered, getting in a dig. She scooted closer to him so she could see the computer's screen. Thankfully, it wasn't the video from the Rusty Spittoon. "Is that a dog being vacuumed?"

"With a handvac, yes. That corgi seems to be enjoying it."

She snickered as she watched the dog roll over on its back to receive more of the vacuuming treatment.

Pausing the video, he replied in a low tone, "And as for your video, I did delete it, but can I help it if I wanted to bask in the glory of my wife's hot ninja skills?" He grinned at her and bounced his eyebrows once.

She smirked, but said nothing.

Sobering, he continued, "Seriously, though, you really are awesome. I… I've never seen you in a fight like that before. I guess in my head I knew you could do stuff like that, but to actually see you in action…" he glanced at her rather shyly, "you're incredible."

His words made her melt. "You're sweet, but I promise, I'm nothing special."

"I promise, you are."

She smiled at his sincerity and kissed his cheek. She wasn't sure if this was the best time to bring it up, but since they hadn't really had any time alone the whole day, she took the chance and said, "I got an e-mail from Graham this afternoon."

Chuck frowned. "Blowback from what happened last night?"

"No, although I'm sure I'll get an earful the next time we videoconference with him. He offered me an assignment."

Something flickered in his eyes and then disappeared. She had seen the same thing when she first told him about the mission to Paris. It was hard for him to have her leave, she knew, given the way his parents had disappeared without a word. She promised herself she would never go on a mission without discussing it with him first.

"What—what kind of assignment?"

"It's long term undercover." She watched his reaction. His jaw clenched.

"I thought you weren't going to take long term assignments anymore," he said, giving her a sidelong glance.

"I wasn't—I'm not—I mean…" she closed her eyes. The hurt and confusion in his had her completely flummoxed. "It's to try to find Benoit," she finally said, opening her eyes again. "Graham thinks I might be able use the meeting I had with him in Paris to say I'm willing to work with him even if he's underground. I'd need to be in Europe to work my contacts to get that message to him." She gently placed her hand on his chest. "The _only_ reason I'm even considering this is to help find out about your parents. Now that we know they were tied somehow to Benoit in the past, if we can find him, he might tell us where they are—or at least what happened to them."

His heart pounded under her hand. She waited, reading his body language. He sat very still and stared at the laptop keyboard, obviously deep in thought. After a minute or so, he said quietly, "I know your job is dangerous, and that there's always a chance that…" His voice trailed off. "I get that. But if the _only_ reason you're thinking of doing this is to _maybe_ find out something about my parents… I don't want you to do it."

"Chuck, you've given me so much. I thought this might be a way for me to give something back to you. I know how important finding out what happened to your parents is to you."

"I don't need you to do anything for me. You being you—here with me—that's all I need. I'm not willing to give up the present to find out about the past." His jaw clenched and relaxed, clenched and relaxed. With a growl, he said, "And you'd be dealing with the same guy that..." He stopped and looked down at his hands.

She lifted her hand to his cheek and turned his face toward hers. "It's okay," she said. "You don't need to say another word. I'll tell Graham I can't do it. He knows I don't want to go on any long-term missions anyway, so it won't be a big surprise to him. He'll have to figure out something else." She searched his eyes and saw hurt from his past still lurking there. She kissed him softly. "I love you. No more long missions." Smiling, she teased, "And when I go on a short mission like the Paris one I just came back from, maybe I'll take you with me." Shyly, she added, "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Yeah?" He smiled, looking pretty pleased with himself. He quickly closed the laptop, set it on the floor next to the bed and gave her his full attention. They both slid down, now flat on the bed and on their sides, facing each other. He pushed a bit of her hair behind her shoulder. "Care to share?"

"I especially missed you when I was at Benoit's party. I wished you were right there, next to me. You would have fit right in, too." She ran her fingers through the hair at his temples. "I happen to know you look very handsome in a suit and tie. When you come with me next time, you can be Nerdy James Bond."

He grinned. "Why can't I be regular James Bond," he asked in his best Sean Connery accent.

She gave him a look, producing a chuckle from him. "Okay, I'll be James Nerd." He leaned forward and kissed her. "Only if you're Spy Barbie." It gave her goose bumps when he delicately trailed his fingers up and down her arm. "What do we do with the kids when I go with you on missions as your nerd-a-licious booty call?"

"Casey can stay with them when they're in school. They can come with us when they're not."

He kissed her throat. "The family that spies together..."

"Mmmmm, something like that," she mumbled, rapidly losing interest in their conversation.

He pulled back and his gaze dropped to her lip. "Did you mean what you said this morning, about how I could kiss this whenever I wanted?" he asked, gently brushing his lips across the bruise and cut.

"Mm-hmm. You said you'd remember. I'm glad you did."

"How could I forget an offer like that?" Concerned, he said, "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm pretty tough. I think I can take it."

"That's true. I saw the video. They're right."

"Who is? About what?"

"You are, like, a really hot ninja."

A throaty laugh erupted.

"Be warned, Mrs. Bartowski, I have a few ninja moves of my own."

Did he ever.

~ O ~

Sarah's throat and lungs burned as she jogged along the trail through the woods behind their house. She had to continually remind herself it wasn't that she was _that_ out of shape—although she had to admit her workout routine had suffered since coming to Beaver Creek—it was that she was running at eight thousand feet above sea level. Cognitively, she understood that at the higher altitude, the lower air pressure meant the amount of oxygen driven into her blood stream from her lungs decreased significantly. Practically, it felt to her like she was breathing through a straw.

Her feet pounded out a steady tempo along the same pine and aspen tree lined dirt trail she had hiked with the kids soon after coming to Beaver Creek. She burst into the same clearing where they had stopped to eat lunch that day. Hands on hips, she walked around the open area to stay loose and sucked in gulps of air, filling her lungs. As her breathing steadied, she looked out over the valley and the ribbon of river below.

The compulsion to get up out of her and Chuck's warm bed this morning to go running had, at first, eluded her. But as she ran, she began to understand that what she was really was trying to do was shake off the soporific effects of winter: the dark, the snow, and the cold. She loved the times spent in front of a roaring fire with a glass of wine and snuggling with Chuck, or playing in the snow with the kids. But now it was her first springtime in Colorado, and as much as they continued to talk on the news about how dry it had been lately, she was enjoying the warmer weather.

She took a few sips from her water bottle, stretched out her muscles, and started back down the path toward the house. She began at the same pace she had run going out, but about half way back, slowed to start her cool down. It felt good to be running again, and promised herself to run at least a few times a week.

By the time she reached the edge of the backyard grass, her gait had slowed to a walk. She passed the gazebo and the bench, monuments to the moment her life changed forever. Sometimes, when she objectively thought about the fact that she was married and a parent to seven children, it was almost felt like she was having an out of body experience—that she had been dropped into someone else's life. But then one smile from Chuck, one hug from Megan, one rousing game of _Call of Duty_ with the whole family, and it all became real. Happily so.

The house was quiet when she entered through the door from the balcony that overlooked the backyard. There was no sign of Carina, so she assumed she was still asleep. It was the first day back to school after spring break, so Chuck drove the kids that morning freeing her go for her run. He wasn't back yet, although her watch told her he would return any minute. She finished off her water as she climbed the stairs and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Apparently, her estimation of Chuck's arrival home had been spot on. She had barely finished rinsing the shampoo from her hair when the shower door opened and he stepped in. Her "quick" shower ended up lasting longer than originally anticipated.

Later, when they entered the kitchen together, they found Carina sitting at the table with a mug of coffee and half a bagel in front of her. Her thumbs tapped furiously over the screen of her phone.

"Tweeting about how awesome it is here in Colorado?" Chuck teased.

"Yeah, Chuckie. That's a great way to stay under the radar," she shot back absently as she finished up the text. After hearing the "swoosh" sound notifying that the message had been sent, she set the phone on the table and looked up at them. Giving them a knowing stare, she said, "You two look clean and relaxed."

"It's been a dry spring. We're doing our part to help conserve water," Chuck said, pecking Sarah's cheek. A comment like that in front of anyone else would have caused her to blush. When it came to Carina, though, it didn't bother her in the least. If anything, she was pleased that her husband and her friend felt comfortable enough to joke around with each other.

Sarah poured a mug of coffee, handed it to Chuck and then poured one for herself. Sipping the brew, she found it was a little stronger than usual. "Did you make this?"

"Yeah," Carina replied. "I'm not _completely_ useless in the kitchen. See?" She picked up the bagel with cream cheese smeared over it. "Exhibit B."

"Wow. Helping clear the table the other night, making coffee and getting your own bagel at breakfast today? You stay here much longer, you'll be ready to be a hausfrau in your own right," Sarah remarked with a chuckle.

Carina gave Chuck a devilish glance. "I'm not sure how you feel about having two wives who are spies, Chuckie, but I'm game if you are."

"Sorry. Sarah has an exclusive contract," Chuck replied unfazed, winking at his wife.

"Damn straight," Sarah growled before bunching his shirt in her free hand and hauling him to her. She assaulted him with a fiercely possessive kiss.

"At least you two don't make me lose my appetite anymore," Carina said mildly before taking a bite of her bagel.

Their kiss broke. Staring into Sarah's eyes, he said with mock concern, "We must be doing it wrong." They both turned and looked at Carina who raised her mug in salute and then took a sip, washing down the bagel.

"As for being a hausfrau, that's gonna have to wait. I've been recalled to DC. The nerds in the bunkers that keep their ears to the ground and their eyes on the skies say there hasn't been any chatter about Caryn Mitchell. They say it's safe for me to come out of hiding." Carina spun her phone on the table. "The text I just sent was to my boss telling him I'll be flying out tonight."

Sarah felt a pang of sadness. It had been fun having Carina around. She asked, "Will you be able to stay long enough to see to the kids before you go? They'll be disappointed if you leave without saying goodbye."

"Oh, I'll say goodbye. We're taking a redeye. We don't have to leave for the airport until late afternoon."

"We?" Sarah inquired.

Casey walked into the kitchen and went straight for the coffee. Pouring himself a mug, he took a slug and nodded with approval. "Strong and bitter. Just like you, Carina."

"And it'll keep you up all night," Carina added with a sly grin into her mug as she took a sip.

Sarah saw something flicker in Casey's eyes. _Prague maybe? That place seems like nothing but trouble._ Looking at the big man, the answer to her question came to her. Now she remembered. "Spring break is over and you're going back to DC," she said. "You're the other part of 'we.'"

Casey nodded. He took another gulp from his mug and set it on the counter. "You ready to go?" he asked, looking at Carina.

She eyed Chuck and Sarah, nodded and stood. "Yeah. Give me a couple of minutes," she said as she swept out of the kitchen.

"Go? Go where?" Chuck asked.

"I'm going to Large Mart with her."

Sarah was surprised. "I wonder why didn't she ask me to go with her?"

"Oh, I don't know," he sniped. Crossing his arms in front of him, he added, "Trouble follows the two of you around. Maybe she doesn't want to end up with her ass in the county jail again."

She thought about that for a moment and found she couldn't really argue with the logic.

"Come on, Johnny!" came a call from near the front door. "Let's roll."

Casey walked out of the kitchen with Sarah and Chuck trailing behind him. Sarah watched as they went out the front door and felt the reverberation in her chest as it slammed closed behind them.

~ O ~

Carina hated these kinds of stores, but they served a purpose and today she needed to be served. So she pushed aside a revolting thought regarding the sheer number of disgusting bodily fluids that might have dried on the handle of the shopping cart she was currently touching and continued her trek through the store. An involuntary shudder shot through her as they walked past a rack of pleather boots. The Muzak version of _Eyes Without a Face_ being pumped through the store made her want to pull out her SIG and put a round in every speaker in the place. However, she didn't want to visit the Eagle county jail again, so she refrained.

"Way to grab the one cart in the store with the loudest, wobbliest wheel, Miller," Casey snarked.

"The only one that _doesn't_ make noise? My guess is you got that ass backwards, Johnny Boy," Carina shot back. She stopped and her gaze swept across the store, looking for the section that held the items she was looking for. At the same time, she noted where the security cameras were located on the ceiling behind the dark half domes, all the exits and the locations of the security guards. From the toy section located at the back of the store, her ears were assaulted by the sound of a kid's bloodcurdling scream and then a wail of crying. All in the store could clearly make out that the child was not happy about not getting whatever "it" was. She made a mental note to avoid that part of the store.

"What the hell am I doing here?" Casey grumbled as he walked alongside her down one of the main wide aisles.

"I need to pick up some feminine protection products and I thought you might like to tag along."

He stopped dead in his tracks. "I'm not going anywhere near those… things," he said with a grimace.

She snickered and chucked her finger under his chin. "Just kidding." When she saw him relax, she couldn't help but add, "Well, sorta. I really do need—"

The bearish growl that came from deep within his chest cut her off. She flicked her eyebrow and said in a low voice, "You know how your animal sounds turn me on."

A thrill shot through her when she saw a mixture of pleasure and fear in his eyes. They started walking slowly again. "I wanted to get you alone so I could hear it from you. Do you think Sarah is the same agent she was before she came here? Before Chuckles and the kids?"

His eyes narrowed at her. "What do you mean?"

"A year ago she kicked ass and took names. We both know she was Graham's go to agent. No attachment, no fear, no problem. Is she still that agent? Or has she lost her edge?"

"Walk—"

"Don't you mean, _Bartowski_?" Carina snarked.

"_Walker, _the_ spy,"_ he said emphatically, glaring at her, "is one of the best agents I've ever worked with. With her husband sitting on top of a pile of explosives, she calmly put three slugs in a damn traitor's chest and one in his forehead for good measure. I can guarantee you she'd do the same thing today and not bat an eye."

"Maybe." They walked past the home office section and the display of paper shredders that were on sale. She liked shredders. Their only use was for destruction and obfuscation. Unfortunately, they were too big for one of her carry ons. "What about her falling for Chuck? You must have seen that coming."

He let out a loud guffaw. A nearby shopper with a toddler perched in the seat facing her and a cart full of diapers shot him an annoyed look. "I was up at the house the second day she was here. By then it was already too late. The nerd pheromones already got to her. My guess is she was a goner about four hours after she walked through the front door. I couldn't have stopped it."

She eyed him skeptically. "Judging from the wedding photos you didn't try very hard."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

"I mean I saw the picture with Walker in her wedding dress and you filling out a tuxedo with a hand on her shoulder and not-grimacing for the camera. Not exactly my idea of providing covert surveillance."

He mumbled something.

"What was that, Casey? I didn't quite catch that."

"As a matter of fact, I walked Walker down the aisle and gave her away." His nostrils flared in defiance. "She asked me to."

Carina stopped again and gawped at him. Finally, she said, "_You_ gave her away?"

"That's right," he growled. "I'd been around them long enough to know she _needed_ to marry the guy."

"Yeah, well, maybe they _needed_ to get married, but I happen to know they didn't _have_ to get married." She smiled at the sour grimace that comment elicited. "But what about down the road?" she insisted. "Sarah's gonna get bored. Yeah, it's obvious she's in love with the guy—and happy now—but I can't see her being that way forever." Her eyes flashed. "Even the other night, it didn't take long for her to shake off the hausfrau shackles at the bar and cut loose."

She expected him to answer her when he opened his mouth. Instead, something over her shoulder caught his attention. With eyes shining, he walked past her, as if drawn by a siren's song, and stood before a giant, gleaming barbeque. "A Beastmaster 3000," he breathed reverently. "Four porcelain-enameled, cast-iron cooking grates, six individually controlled burners with electronic ignition, an integrated smoke box, and a warming rack." His voice dropped even lower as he reached out and tentatively stroked the shiny stainless steel lid. "This bad boy puts out 60,000 BTUs per hour. I've read about it, but I've never seen one in person."

Carina heaved a disgusted sigh and rolled her eyes. "Focus, Casey. Sarah? At the bar?" she prompted.

His eyes cleared and snapped back to her. "So what if she cut loose a little? She got married. She didn't join a convent. Besides, Bartowski doesn't want a hausfrau. He thinks her spy side is hot. You should see him break out in a sweat every time he sees her throwing knives. Why would he want a hausfrau when he's got Sarah Walker?" She felt his glare pin her. "Cut the crap, Carina. You just want to know if the nerd's good enough for your hetero life partner."

She snorted. "Well, it's obvious that he's great in the sack based on the _glowing_ Sarah we see every friggin' morning."

"Thanks for the reminder." It looked like he had just swallowed a bug. "They're like rabbits," he grumbled under his breath. "What's your problem today? A couple nights ago you said he was a good guy."

Carina shrugged. "We all say all kinds of things when we're under the influence. I found out _all kinds_ of things about you at that bar after our mission in Prague." She stepped closer to him and walked her fingers up his chest. Her half smile was met with a growl. "Now, we can talk about what _you_ like," she paused to let that sink in, "or you can tell me why my friend is going to spend the rest of her life with the Nerd King."

Casey's glare was met with a knowing gaze. Eventually, he gritted out, "Bartowski's a hero."

"Shooting bad guys in a video game hardly counts," she scoffed. They started down the wide aisle of the store again, walking toward the books and magazines section. She wanted to pick up some "high brow" reading material for the wait at the airport and during the flight back to DC in case she couldn't sleep.

"He defends this country just like you and me. He uses a computer instead of a gun. He may be a bit pansy-assed about the Second Amendment but he's a patriot. He could work in the private sector and pull down a ton of dough. With seven kids to support, that's a big deal. Instead, he cashes his regular government paycheck like the rest of us. And he's no idiot. He knows exactly what he's giving up."

"Yeah, and he's giving _it_ up all the time," she said in a salacious tone. "Does she know what she's giving up?"

"She gets a lot more than she gives up." Before she could reply, he pre-emptively ordered, "Don't say it. And wipe that smirk off your face." She did not.

"They're better together," Casey continued. "Walker has something concrete to hold on to in Chuck. Good, strong American ideals—loves his family, loves his country. He is who he is. And Bartowski's willing to put more on the line because he trusts Sarah. He's willing to accept a small amount of danger to his family knowing she'll protect them. One can't happen without the other."

"Ideals aren't the only thing Sarah's holding on to, Johnny," she said.

"It never stops with you, does it?"

"Nope." She was a little surprised at the amount of sentences the usually monosyllabic man had uttered. "When did you learn to use your words, Casey?"

"Being around those seven kids talking and yapping all the time…"

She noticed his frown. "What?"

"I glare at them and you know what they do? They _laugh_ at me. One of my glares can make a grown man wet himself. And these kids laugh."

They entered the books and magazines section in silence as she pondered if he was annoyed or proud of that fact. _Whatever_. She scanned the rack of magazines and said, "If Sarah's hubby can earn the John Casey Seal of Approval, I guess that's good enough for me."

Into the shopping cart went a couple of fashion magazines, a gossip rag and an issue of _Guns & Ammo_. A second copy of the magazine landed on top of the first, along with a copy of _Soldier of Fortune_ and _National Review_. He stared her down when she gave him a look. "You owe me for making me talk about feelings and crap."

"Fine. I'll expense it." Wanting to pick up a trashy paperback, she headed the cart toward that section. As she passed through the children's books, one book caught her eye. She stopped, picked up the thin paperback and stared at the cover. Angling it so Casey could see it too, she said, "We need to buy this."

The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. "Yeah, we do."

~ O ~

By the time Casey and Carina returned, the kids were home from school. Chuck, Fred, Curtis, Lizzie and Lisa were throwing the Frisbee around in the backyard and Sarah, Bridget, Martie and Megan were sitting in the living room where Sarah was getting updated on the goings-on at their school. Sarah had learned early on that schools were a hotbed of drama and intrigue. Bridget had just finished telling them all about what had transpired during the lunch recess between the biggest troublemaker in her grade and the adult supervisor when Carina came in, dumped her shopping bags on the floor and flopped down on the couch next to her. Casey went straight to the kitchen, retrieved two bottles of water and tossed one to Carina. He then continued through the living room and headed out the back door to join those in the backyard.

Sarah watched Carina crank off the top and take a couple of swallows. "I'm exhausted," she sighed. "Shopping wears me out."

"You were shopping this whole time?" Sarah glanced at her watch. "You've been gone for like, five hours."

"Well, not the _whole_ time. We ran errands," Carina said nebulously and without elaboration.

Sarah internally cringed and groaned_. I don't even want to know._

Bridget unwittingly saved the group from a potentially awkward moment—or five—when she sat up and asked, "Did you go clothes shopping? Did you buy anything cute?"

"Well, we didn't go for clothes on purpose, but I did slip into a cute store in the village and bought this." The redhead dug into a bag and pulled out a shimmery silver top.

Bridget's eyes lit up. "Oh, Miss Carina," she said, her voice filled with wonder, "it's beautiful." She reached out a hand as if to touch it and then pulled it back quickly.

Carina dropped the blouse in Bridget's lap. "It's okay. Go ahead and check it out."

Sarah watched as Bridget delicately fingered the material, checked the seams and read the tag. "Bridget, you really should go into fashion someday. You know that, right?" Sarah said.

The girl looked up from her inspection and said, "Do you really think I could do that? I mean, do you think I'd be good at it?"

Carina laughed and said, "Kid, I've only been here a week, and I can see you have more fashion sense and knowledge than ninety-five percent of the people in the country. You're the best dressed fifth grader I know."

Bridget smirked. "I'm the _only_ fifth grader you know."

Sarah chuckled and the two little girls giggled behind their hands. Carina's eyes flashed with mirth and she waved a hand, dismissing Bridget's comment. Glancing at the littlest girls, Carina said, "Oh! I bought something for you two."

Two pairs of astonished blue eyes gazed at her as she dug though the bags. "Ah! Here it is!" she said triumphantly. With a flourish, she held a book out in front of Megan for her to take.

It seemed impossible to Sarah, but somehow Megan's eyes grew larger than she had ever seen them. "Spy Barbie," Megan said in complete awe. Sarah leaned over and looked at the cover. "It says 'Super Spy Barbie,' sweetie."

Megan nodded slowly, as if hearing but with no comprehension. Sarah wasn't sure the stunned little girl had blinked since she took the book in her hands. She looked sidelong at Carina and saw the pleasure shining on her friend's face as she watched Megan's reaction to the book. _Megan's melted the heart of another hardened spy._

Megan tore her eyes away from the book and looked at Carina. "Thank you, Miss Carina. This is the best book ever."

Carina dipped her head and replied, "You are very welcome, Megan. I'm glad you like it. I can't promise how believable the story will be, though, based on the mission clothes she wearing on the cover. I mean a real spy would _never_ wear knee high boots like that on a covert mission. They're way too sparkly if she's trying to sneak around and not be seen."

Sarah examined the cover more closely. A smiling Barbie was pictured climbing a rope, her perfectly straight blonde hair flowing down her back. "The black leggings are okay, but the top and boots both match and are too glittery and memorable. Her disguise needs to help her blend in more."

"That's true," Carina agreed. Offhandedly, she continued, "By the way, Sarah, I came across an interesting costume in the basement closet. White peasant top with a rather daring neckline and a short red skirt with yellow polka dots? Mind telling me what mission that was for?"

Sarah's cheeks pinked but she otherwise ignored Carina's jab.

Bridget took in the picture and scrunched her nose. "The bedazzled cell phone clipped to her belt has _got_ to go."

Martie pointed at the picture. "The bag over her shoulder is really silvery and shiny, too. Is that bad?"

Sarah shrugged a shoulder. "Well, it does go with the rest of the outfit."

The critiquing of Barbie's clothes didn't seem to penetrate through Megan's trance as she continued to take in every element of the book's cover. Finally, she looked first at Carina and then Sarah. "It may be called 'Super Spy Barbie,' but you and Miss Carina are real super spies."

Sarah insides melted. She took Megan's chin in her hand and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, peanut. You're sweet."

Megan grinned and whispered to her aunt, "Do you think Miss Carina would read this to us?"

Sarah peeked over Megan's shoulder and caught Carina's eye. The amusement she saw gave her the answer. "If you ask her nicely, I think she might," Sarah whispered back.

Megan nodded her head solemnly and turned toward Carina. "Miss Carina? Will you read us the Spy Barbie book, please?"

"Yes, Megan, I will."

Bridget scooted over a little and said, "Come sit between me and Miss Carina."

"Martie, why don't you come sit over here," Carina said, patting the seat next to her. The little ones smiled and hurried to take their places. Once settled, Megan handed the book to Carina who opened to the first page. After clearing her throat, she began reading. "'Barbie walked into the store, stopped and scanned the room, looking for the tall, curly haired man whose face matched the picture on her phone. Spotting him behind the counter, she smirked and flipped her long blonde hair…'"

~ O ~

Chuck and Fred loaded Carina's bags into the trunk of the BMW as the rest of the family stood on the grass and watched. The news of Carina's imminent departure that evening had been met with disappointment and sadness. Of course the kids understood that she was needed and had to get back to work. It still didn't make it any easier to see her leave. It also didn't help matters that Casey had left an hour earlier.

Sarah had been watching Lisa closely—albeit surreptitiously—to gauge her reaction to Carina's departure. At first, Sarah recognized hurt and uncertainty in her niece's eyes. She could see that Lisa was guarded, but not withdrawn.

"I'm off to save the world," Carina joked as Chuck slammed the trunk closed and moved to stand behind his wife. Her remark helped to relieve the tension. Smiles broke out and several of the kids snickered. Lisa was not one of them.

"Group hug for _Aunt_ Carina, kids," Sarah said with a gleam in her eye. She knew it would make her friend uncomfortable, but she didn't care. It was for the kids.

Carina seemed a bit taken aback at first as the kids descended on her, calling over each other, "We're gonna miss you," and "Be safe," and "Hope you catch some bad guys." She seemed to relax, though, when she didn't end up tackled to the ground.

"Will you ever come back?" Lisa asked. Her tone wasn't accusatory. It was tentative, as if she were afraid of what the answer might be.

"Are you kidding?" Carina answered with a laugh. "Of course I'll be back. Sarah knows I'm like a bad penny. I keep turning up." She tugged gently on a bit of Lisa's blonde hair. "Don't worry. Now that I know where you live, I'll pop up when you least expect it." A smile spread across Lisa's face.

"Greeeeeeat," Chuck whispered.

Sarah giggled behind her hand and turned it into a throat clearing session. She moved slightly and bumped her shoulder blade against his chest.

Sarah clapped her hands a couple of times and said, "Okay, kids. Aunt Carina needs to get going." As she stepped forward, the kids released Carina from the group hug went to stand back on the grass. The two friends walked slowly toward the car, trailed by Chuck. "I'm glad you came to visit," Sarah said. "It was…memorable. As usual."

Carina chuckled. "It's what I do." When they reached the driver's side of the car, they embraced and Carina whispered, "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," she replied quietly as they released from their hug. "I'm happy for me, too."

The redhead stuck a hand into her back pocket, fished out a card, and stepped closer to Chuck. "Chuckie, you're a good guy. Here's something for you to remember me by." She reached out and dropped the card into his shirt pocket and patted it.

"Carina…" Sarah warned.

With a laugh, she dropped her hand. "So easy. Relax, Sarah. I know the drill. I just gave him _our_ number."

Sarah looked at her friend, surprise and affection rising together. She nodded and asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Carina paused and then her face grew as serious as Sarah had ever seen it. "Teach him the codes, will you? With you going out on missions… I can help him get a message to you, or something. You know… if needed."

Sarah couldn't remember a time when Carina was more sincere. Swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat, she nodded and said softly, "I will. Thank you. Keep in touch, okay?"

Carina opened the car door and slipped into the seat. "I will." Sarah gently closed the door. The engine purred to life and Carina put the window down and grinned, "Make sure you say goodbye to that yummy Agent Barstow for me. And that Chuckie keeps up with his husbandly duties."

Sarah laughed and replied, "He always does."

Carina grinned in response. Then she put the car in gear and gave the family a small wave as she pulled away. They watched as she disappeared down the street, hearing a cheerful, "Bye bye, Bartowskis!" floating on the wind. The kids ran back toward the house, laughing and chattering at each other.

Sarah felt Chuck's gaze on her as they slowly turned back toward the house. He held an arm out to her, inviting her to him. She gladly accepted and reveled in the feeling of his arm securely around her shoulders. They matched stride for stride as they ambled across the grass.

"Do you wish you were going off on some crazy adventure with Carina?" he asked softly as the approached the house.

"No. I've been on crazy adventures with her before. I'm good." Her answer was met by a long, considered look.

They entered the house. She thought he would release her from his embrace, but he didn't. She could hear Mrs. Smith in the kitchen and _Call of Duty _blasting from the TV room as they strolled through the living room toward the door that led to the balcony and the backyard. Down the stairs they went, his arm never leaving her shoulders. It was obvious he had something on his mind. She knew with Chuck, the best thing was to wait and let him start when he was ready.

They were halfway across the backyard grass when he said, "I don't know if you remember—the other night in the car on the way home from…well, after the Rusty Spittoon—Carina said that if I ever hurt you, she'd rip my throat out."

She stopped dead in her tracks. "Chuck, you don't really think she'd physically harm you, do you?"

"No! Well…maybe." He hugged her close and started walking again. "No, the reason I bring it up is that she's not the first one of your spy partners to threaten me with pain of a torturous nature if I ever hurt you."

"What?"

He nodded and they stepped into the gazebo together. Only when they sat on one of the benches did he remove his arm from around her shoulder. He took one of her hands in both of his and said, "The day of our wedding, Casey and I sat right here. He told me that if he found out that I ever hurt you in any way, shape, matter or form, I would be—and I'm quoting here because his words are emblazoned in my brain—'singing soprano.'"

"What?" she said again, only this time a chuckle tinged her outcry. The day of their wedding was a bit of a blur to her now, but she did remember seeing them talking together before the ceremony. With all the excitement of the day, she had forgotten about it. "That's what Casey talked to you about?"

Chuck nodded and a small smile graced his face. "He took his job of giving you away very seriously. It was a wonderful gesture, but I'm sensing a pattern…"

She placed her free hand on top of his and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. She shrugged a shoulder and said, "I guess they care about me."

He sat up straighter and replied, "I'm sure they do, and I'm not questioning that. You're a wonderful person and you deserve that kind of fierce loyalty from your friends. It's just that I find it ironic that you can do more physical and emotional harm to me than I ever could to you." His voice dropped and he stared at their hands. "For instance, what if one day you wake up and you realize you're bored and unhappy? You decide this, the kids and me was all a huge mistake and it isn't what you want after all."

Just the thought of that made her stomach roil. "That will _never_ happen. Never in my life have I been happier than I am with you."

The vehemence of her response made him sharply inhale. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… It's just that it makes me wonder what Casey and Carina think I could do to hurt you."

She didn't even have to think about her answer. "What if one day you wake up and I'm not who you thought I was? You decide marrying me was a huge mistake and I'm not who you want to be with after all," she answered in a quiet voice.

"I would never think that, Sarah."

"_I_ know that. I think that's what Casey and Carina are afraid could happen some day, though. You see the real me, and that makes me vulnerable. Most spies become spies because we don't want the world to see who we really are. We can hide ourselves in the roles we're given to play, the people we become to help accomplish our mission." She took a deep breath and sighed. "I hid behind the mask that being a spy gave me. I could _play_ someone people liked, since I didn't think they would like the real me."

"I find that hard to believe. Why wouldn't they like you?"

"I didn't think I deserved to be liked," she confessed quietly. "I did some pretty rotten things when I was younger. Growing up, my dad was a con man. We moved from place to place, pulling off one con after another."

"You were only doing what your dad told you to do." He hooked a piece of hair behind her ear. "It's not your fault."

"That's not really something a kid understands." She looked down at their entwined hands. "Even then, the real me was always hidden away from the world. I was Rebecca Franco, Jenny Burton, Katie O'Donnell. New town, new name, new con. I learned the real me wasn't good enough to show to the world."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She lifted a shoulder, dropped it, her gaze still on their hands. "In a way, stepping into the spy life was an easy extension of the only thing I'd ever known. Always being someone new. When I came here, I was playing the role of a nanny. I did and said what I thought would work to make the kids like me. I was here to accomplish my mission." A mirthless chuckle escaped. "Of course, the kids immediately stripped away all of my pretenses and I was left to only be me." She finally lifted her gaze and looked into his eyes. "You broke through my defenses. You got to the real me. That's who you fell in love with and that's who can get clobbered. Casey and Carina know my spy mask has been stripped away. They understand the chance I took to be real with you. They don't want to see me get hurt."

She fell silent. The only sound she heard was the chirping of a bird in a nearby tree. When he didn't say anything, her mouth grew dry and the old worries reappeared. She found herself holding her breath, waiting for him to say something. _I revealed things about my past and now he's through with me. Maybe I was right all along. I really am not good enough._

"I can promise I'll never intentionally do anything to hurt you. What I can't do is to promise I'll never hurt you. I'm a _guy_." The chagrined tone he used when saying the final word made her release her breath with a gusty laugh. "I'll always love the real you, no matter what names you've called yourself."

"And the stuff I just told you about my past?"

She watched his eyes drift a spot not too far from where they sat now. "Remember what I said when we talked here in the gazebo before I asked you to marry me? I said I didn't care about your past. And that's still true, although I'm glad to hear more about it because it helps me know you better now. And that's what I care about most. Now."

She felt like an idiot for doubting him. She knew better. "I'm sorry. I keep bringing up the same old stuff."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "It's okay. I'll keep giving you the same answer. And then one of these days, it won't occur to you to bring it up." A mischievous smirk grew. "I'll do _anything_ to make sure I never hurt you. I don't relish the idea of 'singing soprano.'" His brow furrowed as if confused. "I'm not even sure how I'd be able to do that if Carina rips my throat out."

She took his hand and lifted his arm. Snuggling her back into his side, she pulled his arm so that is draped across her front. "I'll protect you."

His cheek rested on her head. "I know."


	9. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

**A/N:** First, I must thank my always awesome beta, **AgentInWaiting**. I'm so glad he knows what I mean, even when I don't make much sense. This story is better because of him and his hard work. Thank you.

Thank you for continuing to read and review that which flows from my fevered brain. I appreciate you all.

In case you missed it, I posted a one-shot companion piece to this story on Mother's Day entitled, _Chuck vs. the Sound of Music II: Operation BiB_.

**Chapter 9 – Smoke Gets in Your Eyes**

Sarah's avatar had just tossed a grenade to the left when Fred's soldier came up from behind and shot the enemy to her right. "Good shot, Fred," she called out as their men swept the area.

"Aunt Sarah, I think there are still a couple more bogies we have to clear out," Lisa said, her eyes glued to the screen.

"Copy that," Sarah replied. It had been awhile since they had played _Call of Duty _together and having the controller in her hands again felt great. Plus, it was just really fun.

"Curtis! You got that guy?" Fred asked, trying to move his avatar into position.

"Yep!" he called back, rapidly punching a button on the controller with his thumb. The sound of rapid gunfire blasted from the speakers.

Lizzie, sitting curled up in a chair, seemed oblivious to the racket going on around her as she texted on her phone.

"Hey, Liz," Fred said. "What's _Brock_ got to say for himself?" Sarah noticed that he tried not to say the name too derisively, but it still was tinged with a hint of disdain. The name Brock made her wince in anticipation of the conflict that might come.

"It's none of your—" Lizzie stopped when Sarah cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow. "He says he's looking forward to the prom," she finished warily and didn't elaborate.

"That's nice," Fred replied. "I hope you have fun." Sarah had mentioned Lizzie and Fred's dust up about Brock to Chuck, who immediately went to them and stated that they needed to be respectful of each other's friends. Sarah was glad to see that they were trying. She was even gladder when the subject was quickly dropped.

They were about to finish the level so the kids could go finish their homework when Chuck walked into the room with his phone in his hand. When Sarah noticed the strange look on his face—surprise, wonder, amusement—she couldn't tell if it was one or all of them—she immediately paused the game. "Chuck, what is it? Is something wrong?"

He glanced at the phone and then at her and smiled. "No, but I'd like to talk to the whole family about it all at once." He typed on his phone and within thirty seconds, Bridget, Martie and Megan entered the room.

"Hey, Uncle Chuck. What's up?" Bridget asked as she sat on the floor. Martie squeezed into the chair next to Lizzie and Megan sat on the floor next to Bridget.

Sarah was just as curious as the kids as they all watched Chuck walk over to the TV and push a button, turning it off. He faced them, his back to the blank screen. "I got an e-mail from Morgan." His comment unleashed a torrent of chatter.

"Uncle Morgan!"

"How is he?"

"Is he coming to visit?"

"I miss him!"

Chuck waited until the room quieted before he continued. "He's fine. He's not coming to visit right now." A chorus of groans voicing their disappointment rumbled through the room. "He's pretty excited about something going on with the Buy More, though. It's expanding its business into Europe and they'll be opening a bunch of new stores there this summer."

"Wow, Chuck, that's really great," Sarah said, with mild enthusiasm. As happy as she was for Morgan, she was having a hard time understanding why this news was important to them. Similarly confused glances shot around the room.

"It is," he replied. "Buy More corporate asked their regional managers to submit ideas on how to draw customers to the new store—grand opening events, things like that. One of the ideas that Morgan submitted was chosen. Corporate wants to see it happen, if they can get all the pieces in place."

Smiles grew all around. "That's really great for Uncle Morgan, isn't it?" Lisa asked.

"It is. Really great," Chuck answered. Sarah's brows knit when he winked at her. _Am I supposed to know what he's talking about?_

"So, is nobody going to ask what his idea is?" he asked with a twinkle.

He waved his arms like he was a choir director when they all chanted together, "What is his idea?"

"Thank you for asking!" He paused and grinned. "How do you feel about the Bartowski Family Gamers touring Europe and playing in _Call of Duty _tournaments put on by the Buy More at each store's grand opening?"

The room was suddenly electrified, like the eerie stillness just after a lightning flash. Then came the "boom of thunder" when everyone started yelling over each other all at once.

Chuck raised a hand, calling for quiet. "I'm sorry you're not very excited by the idea." That launched another round of the kids talking and shouting. Sarah could only smile at their enthusiasm.

Raising his voice, Chuck said, "Okay, okay! I get it! You're excited at the idea. I wanted to gauge your reaction before anything else happened and I'll take this enthusiastic response as you all being willing to go." Excited murmurs hummed through the room. "Aunt Sarah and I need to talk about this first, before any final decisions are made." Sarah suddenly felt like the center of attention when all eyes fell on her. They moved back to Chuck when he said, "We're not like other families who can just pick up and go on vacation. We need to make sure it's okay with our boss, and that we'll be safe before we can go." His face became serious when he added, "I know you all understand what I'm talking about."

The kids sobered and nodded. Chuck glanced at his watch. "Okay, upstairs and finish your homework or whatever it was you were doing," he said, looking at the youngest girls. They leapt up from their seats and tumbled out of the room, chattering about the maybe going to Europe. As the noise moved up the stairs and eventually disappeared, Chuck flopped down next to Sarah on the couch. "I hope you aren't mad. I realize now that I should have talked to you first before letting the kids know about this."

She turned sideways on the couch with her leg bent in front of her to face him. Resting her arm across the top of the cushion, she replied, "No, I'm not mad at all. I'm not the one you have to worry about if this trip doesn't happen. We'll have seven really disappointed kids on our hand if it falls through."

He grinned sheepishly. "I guess I was so excited about the idea, I wasn't really thinking straight."

Both eyebrows shot up. "You got excited about taking seven kids across Europe? That's kind of a big deal, Chuck. Granted, they were great travelers when we went to DC and everything did go off without a hitch."

"Well, there was that one incident with Megan and Graham," Chuck reminded her with a smile.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him and smirked. "Well, he asked for it." After a pause, she asked him, "You aren't a little concerned about taking seven kids to Europe? When we went to DC, we didn't have to deal with regular airports and airlines."

He waved his hand, "Oh, the logistics would be challenging, but…"

"But," she said, dipping her head so she could look into his face. "What are you thinking?"

His gaze dropped to his hands laced in his lap. "I was kind of thinking that while we were in Europe, we could, you know," he looked fully into her face, "look for my parents." He said the last part so softly she barely heard hear him.

"What? Seven kids on a spy mission? No way. We're not going to put them in—"

"No. No, see it wouldn't be a spy mission. We're all there to do the tournaments. _You_ do a little spying on the side. Ask a few questions here and there." His head bobbed side to side. "The kids would never be involved." He looked at her hopefully.

"I'm not sure…"

"Graham already asked you to try to find Benoit. This might be a way for you to help him out."

"I'm sure our kids coming along is not part of his plan," she said, squinting at him.

"Think about it, though. This is a perfect cover for you, and not even a cover. It's real. You're Sarah Bartowski. No one would ever suspect of you of being anything other than the kids' aunt and part of the gaming team. The only thing the kids and I do is help you with your cover. We don't get involved with the spy stuff at all."

She had to admit, begrudgingly, that he had a good point. Maybe the plan Graham had floated to her earlier could be altered so that she could work her contacts and still be with Chuck and the kids. There was another thing to consider, however. "Chuck, you're still a very important asset to the CIA. We're still trying to keep you safe from Fulcrum."

"And you're doing a great job. I love having my own personal bodyguard twenty-four seven." She smiled at his eyebrow antics. He shifted in his seat and mirrored her, bending his leg and leaning his side against the back of the couch. "Casey would come along, of course. He's part of the gaming team and our security detail. I bet Beckman would be on board. And if they're worried about security, have the other agents on the detail come along. You've mentioned how impressed you are with Vegas, Barstow, Cole and Barker. Ask Graham to have them accompany us."

She considered him for a long minute. "I'll talk to Graham about it, but only under one condition."

"And that is?"

"If we do this, you go through some training. I'm not taking you anywhere without you being able to protect yourself."

"What kind of training?" he asked slowly.

"Self-defense for starters. The kids know a lot. It's time for you to learn, too. I'll teach you."

"I'm not going to hit you, Sarah," he said vehemently while his eyes flicked to the nearly healed cut on her lip.

"Don't worry," she chuckled. "You won't. I might let you throw me to the ground, though."

The rumbling noise he made in his chest caused a shiver to shoot up her spine. A slow smile grew. "Promise?"

An eyebrow arched. "Don't change the subject."

"_Me?_ _You're_ the one talking about me throwing you to the ground," he laughed.

The eyebrow stayed up. "_Anyway_, you also have to learn how to handle a gun."

His smile disappeared. "Sarah, I—I can't. Guns are scary. Besides, I could never shoot anybody."

"I'm not asking you to turn into Rambo."

"Rambo," he grinned. "So proud of you."

"Thank you," she deadpanned. "Seriously, though, I don't want you to turn into Rambo. There's no reason to do that. You're not training to be a full-fledged spy. If we do go, though, it's important that you know how to use a gun."

"For protection only," he stated.

"For protection only," she echoed.

They silently studied each other. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Finally, he said, "If Graham approves us going, I'll go through whatever training you want me to."

Seeing how far he'd be willing to go, she asked, "You'll even go jogging with me?"

His face was overcome with a pained expression. "Now you're really pushing your luck."

"Twice a week to start with. Short ones at first, I promise."

"Okay."

Her head snapped back in surprise. "Wow. You really _are_ motivated to do this."

"I am." The intensity in his voice took her aback.

"Okay. We'll talk to Graham tomorrow."

His smile returned. "What do we do until tomorrow?"

She snatched a controller from the cushion behind her and held it up. "It might not be a bad idea to practice."

He shook his head, lifted the controller from her hand and set it on the floor.

"No?" she said innocently.

He scooted closer and gave her a soft, sensual kiss. "No."

~ O ~

It was a little strange to have the house to themselves in the mornings now that Carina and Casey were gone and the kids were back in school. Sarah couldn't talk Chuck into running with her that morning since they hadn't spoken to Graham yet. He teased that it would motivate her to talk to him as soon as possible. It did.

They both stood at attention in front of the screen, looking at Graham's smiling face. So far, the meeting was going much better than she had anticipated. She was surprised at how enthusiastic their boss was about the Bartowski Family Gamers going to Europe and her willingness to assist in the hunt for Henri Benoit and by extension, Frost and Orion. The fact that the agencies involved had turned up very little information on the whereabouts of Benoit was certainly an important factor in his approval of the mission.

"Any way you're willing to go on missions, Agent Walker, I'll take it," Graham said.

Chuck had told her before the meeting that Graham would thrilled to have his favorite agent back in the field, even if the family was involved on the periphery._ I guess Chuck was right. Graham sure has a different reaction to this than he did the first time we went to the village with the family a few months ago._ "Thank you, sir. I appreciate that. There is, though, the matter of Chuck's as an important asset to the Agency and potential risks to his safety if we travel."

"If there is anything I have learned in the last eight months, Agent Walker, it's that when it comes to the safety of your husband, I don't need to worry. You have proven to be more than adequate as his bodyguard," the director answered with a smile. Something caught the director's eye and he looked over the monitor. He looked back at Chuck and Sarah and said, "Just a moment," and turned the back of his chair to the camera.

While the monitor was filled with the image of the black leather of the back of Graham's chair, Chuck whispered in her ear, "It's like someone spiked his coffee with happy pills this morning."

She fought a grin and tried to keep her face neutral. "Shhhhhhh."

He wouldn't be deterred. "I know!" he breathed excitedly. "He finally found out that the couch in his office can be used for something other than sitting."

She snickered and bit the inside of her cheek. Giving him a sly look, she whispered, "Carina was a bad influence on you."

One corner of his mouth quirked up and an eyebrow bounced once. They quickly wiped the smiles off their faces when Graham turned the chair back around and said, "I apologize. As I was saying, I have faith that you will keep your husband safe, Agent Walker. That being said, I will task one of the teams currently on security detail to travel with you. Do you have a preference as to which team accompanies you?"

"No, sir. I've worked with both teams and find them all to be top-notch agents. Either team will be an asset to the mission." She turned and looked at Chuck and then back to Graham. "We haven't spoken to Major Casey about this trip, yet, Director. Do you foresee any difficulties in him being able to accompany us? While I'm happy to have any of the other agents guard us, we really can't do this trip without him. He's not only an excellent partner and one I will rely on during the 'extracurricular' parts of our trip, he's a member of the Bartowski Family Gamers."

"Understood. I'll speak with General Beckman. I'm sure we'll be able to come to some kind of arrangement to ensure Major Casey's inclusion on this mission. Do you know the itinerary for the trip yet?"

"No, sir," Chuck answered. "We wanted to get approval from you first before we advised the Buy More. As soon as we get the information, we'll forward it to you."

"Very good." Graham gazed at them. "Anything else, Agent Walker? Mr. Bartowski?"

They looked at each other and then back at the screen. "No, sir," Sarah replied.

"I look forward to receiving more information on this when it becomes available," the director said before the screen went blank.

"That went better than I expected it would," Sarah said, relaxing now that the meeting was over.

"I told you Graham would be happy to get his girl back in the game."

She rolled her eyes. "I was under the impression I'm someone else's girl, now," she said, reaching out to fiddle with the collar of his shirt. Resting a hand on his chest, she chuckled, "He should send Morgan a thank you note for thinking this up in the first place. It's a bit funny that Morgan and the Buy More have been co-opted into helping out the CIA."

"That it is. Speaking of Morgan, I'll e-mail him right now and tell him we're good to go and to send us the itinerary. We need to start making plans." He took out his phone and typed out a quick e-mail. "Done." He smiled at her and bowed slightly. "I am now yours to mold, Spy Master. What do we do first? Running? Flipping? Shooting?"

"It's too windy to run. I mean, we can, but running in wind is not that pleasant of an experience."

"Who claimed that running is ever a pleasant experience?"

"You sound just like Lisa."

"Smart girl. She's always been my favorite," he teased.

Laughing, she replaced her hand on his chest and gave him a playful shove. She glanced at her watch. "We don't have time to do any self-defense right now. We need to go get Megan in a little while, and we can't do firearms until Casey comes back. I'm going to have him work with you on that."

"Oh, joy."

In a serious tone, she said, "He may not be Mr. Sunshine, but you'll be learning from the best."

He sobered and nodded his head.

She nodded along with him and her face brightened. "After we pick up Megan from school, the three of us can work on self-defense. She can help me demonstrate some of the basics."

"Sounds good. What do we do until then?" he asked suggestively.

An eyebrow shot up and she was about to answer when the home phone rang. They both sighed. Most of the calls they received on the landline were telemarketers who had the audacity to begin their spiel by saying they actually _weren't_ trying to sell them anything or nonprofits asking for clothing donations. Chuck grabbed the handset off his desk and looked at the caller ID. Sarah's brow knit with concern when a confused look flashed on his face.

He pushed the talk button and held the phone up to his ear. "Hello?" He didn't speak again. He only listened and as he did so, the look on his face changed from confusion to alarm. She could feel the adrenaline flood her system when she saw his face lose all its color. She'd never seen him look like that, ever, and it completely unnerved her.

She gripped his arm. "Chuck! What is it?" she hissed. _Fulcrum?_ "Please, don't tell me it's one of the kids." The thought of one of the kids… She tried to swallow, but almost gagged instead.

His eyes, wide with distress, looked at her and shook his head. He listened for a few more seconds, which to her felt like an absolute eternity. He finally pulled the phone away and said, "That was a reverse 911 call. There's a wildfire burning less than two miles from here. We're under a mandatory evacuation. We have thirty minutes to leave."

They looked at each other for a split second. Then, at the same time, they broke for the office door, sprinted through the house and then ran out the front door into the yard. They stood like statues, slack jawed as they faced west and stared at the rising tower of billowing smoke. The pillar was a swirling, burbling mass of grey, tinged with orange and tan, scarring an otherwise impossibly blue, cloudless sky. The sharp edges of the roiling column told her the wind hadn't dispersed the smoke yet, but it was only a matter of time.

His voice broke through their stunned silence. "Sarah, we have to go."

They turned and ran back toward the house. "Where do we go? Did they say?" she asked as they raced across the yard.

"The high school. It's far enough away that it won't be threatened." They ran into the house and bounded up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. "You get together whatever the girls need and I'll get some stuff together for us and the boys," he directed.

"Get the boys' stuff first. I can wear what I have on for as long as I need to," she replied urgently as they split off when they reached the top of the stairs. She sprinted into Martie and Megan's room first as Chuck darted into the boys'. Her mind spun as she tried to figure out what were the most important things to get. _Focus_, she commanded. Flinging open the closet, she grabbed the two small canvas overnight bags she knew lived in the corner pushed up along the wall. Bags in hand, she moved to the dresser and shoved into each a handful of underwear and socks, along with some pajamas and a pair of jeans. From the closet she took their favorite sweatshirts and jammed them into the bags. Before she left the room, she snatched Spy Barbie off Megan's bed and Martie's teddy bear off of hers and stuffed both into one bag. She ignored the bathroom completely. They would pick up anything they needed at a store later.

She zipped closed each bag and tossed them over the railing. They landed on the floor below with a thud. Just as she ran toward Lisa and Bridget's room, Chuck burst from the boys room and sent the bags he had packed tumbling down the stairs. Once in the older girls' room, Sarah repeated what she had done previously, quickly gathering their things together and tossing their bags over the railing. Rushing through Lizzie's room, she couldn't find a bag, so she took the laundry basket from the closet, dumped the dirty clothes onto the floor and filled it with what she needed to take. As she snatched a sweatshirt off a hanger, she glanced at the blue prom dress hanging there. _Sorry, Lizzie. That's going to have to stay_.

She grabbed the laundry basket and stepped quickly down the stairs, stopping long enough to kick the boys' bags to the bottom. Once off the stairs, she went directly to the van and put Lizzie's laundry basket in the back. When she ran back into the house, she saw Chuck loaded down with bags with straps slung over his shoulders or handles clutched in his hands. She relieved him of two of the bags and followed him out to the garage.

Once the bags were tossed in the back of the van, she put both hands on his arms and looked into his eyes. "You good?"

He took in a deep breath and blew it out. Nodding, he replied, "Yeah. I just need to get my external backup drive and the thumb drives out of the safe. I know it's rated as fireproof, but I can't take any chances."

She nodded and wiped the dampness from her hands on her jeans. "What can I do?"

"You can get the photo albums out from the living room end table," he said as he hustled into the office and opened the safe.

She took the two albums she found there and joined him in the office. He slipped the drives into a leather briefcase next to the laptop. Glancing at her watch, she saw all of what they had done had taken fifteen minutes. After checking to make sure her passports and her Smith & Wesson were safely inside her purse, she slung the strap over her shoulder. She ran through a mental checklist: no prescription meds for the kids, the photo albums were under her arm, some essential clothes for everyone were stashed in the van, important documents were in the safe deposit box at the bank… Everything else could be replaced. "Do we have everything?"

"I think so," he said, handing her the briefcase with the laptop. "Let me know when you get to the high school."

Her stomach dropped to her shoes. "What?" she said with disbelief. _I couldn't have heard that right_. "What?" she repeated.

"I'm staying here to wet down the roof and put out any embers that might come this way."

"_The hell you are!"_ she yelled, her cheeks burning with anger. "With a garden hose?" He scowled but said nothing. "And what part of mandatory do you not understand? You _have_ to go!"

His lips set in a grim line. "This is our home, Sarah! I have to protect it!"

"No!" she barked. "No! Let the firefighters protect it!"

"But it's our _home!_" he repeated, running his hands through his hair.

"No!" she said sharply. "It's just a house!"

He blanched. "Sarah, you don't mean—"

"I _do_ mean it!" She was trying to keep her emotions in check and worked to keep the panic from edging into her voice. _How does he not get it? _"This is just a house, Chuck. _You_ make it our home."

His face crumpled.

She softened her voice. "Wherever you are, _that's_ where our home is. And if it has to be in the gym of the high school, then so be it. As long as I'm with you and the kids, it doesn't matter what we live in."

His eyes glistened and he lifted the briefcase from her hand. "Okay," he said quietly. "Let's go."

Without a backward glance, they stepped into the garage and closed the door behind them.

~ O ~

As Chuck drove the van down the hill, they watched the tower of smoke out the window. Once they passed the law enforcement barricades at the bottom of the main road out, Sarah realized how desperate their situation really was. There was no going back. She was just glad they were together. Chuck had floated the notion of her driving the Porsche separately, an idea she promptly shot down with an angry glare.

The K-8 school parking lot was a little more crowded than usual for that time of day. Megan's kindergarten class was about to be dismissed, so the parents milled around waiting. All eyes were on the growing pillar of churning smoke. The adults, several of whom were in the same boat as the Bartowski family, spoke in low voices to other families who were on standby, ready to evacuate at a moment's notice.

Even though the kids were not in any danger at school, Chuck and Sarah decided that it would be best to take Curtis, Bridget and Martie to the evacuation center with them now, since they were already there to pick up Megan. They both felt that it was important to have the family together during the emergency, so while Chuck waited for Megan to be released, she called the agents guarding the schools and informed them of their plans and then headed to the school's office to sign the other kids out for the rest of the day.

She entered the school through the two sets of double doors and made a right turn. She was immediately serenaded by the strains of the middle school band practicing. She couldn't quite place the tune, but she thought they might have been trying to play _Luck be a Lady_. Her already sour stomach churned as memories of lugging her violin around in high school invaded her brain. She really hoped the music kids would be treated better than she had been.

The hallway was decorated with crayon and construction paper creations stapled to the wall. Sarah glanced at them as she walked by and realized that each drawing was of the student's family. When she saw the red sign with black lettering off to the side indicating the adjacent drawings were from Martie's second grade class, she had to stop. It didn't take long to find Martie's. Most of the drawings had three to five people in it, and most included a dog or two. She couldn't help but smile when she examined Martie's artwork. It had the most people in it by far. It was clear who was who in the picture, even if she hadn't drawn them lined up from tallest to shortest, left to right. Unexpectedly, to the right of Megan was another adult, bigger than even Chuck. _Casey_. Turning and continuing on into the office, she decided her partner needed to see that when he returned to Colorado.

When she entered the office, it was buzzing with activity. One of the office workers, a thin, efficient looking woman with short brown hair was on the phone while another conferred quietly with the principal, a pleasant man in his fifties with a receding hairline and, Sarah remembered, a limp handshake.

She stepped up to the beige Formica counter cluttered with clipboards, binders and piles of paper, waiting to be acknowledged. The secretary on the phone looked at her and raised a finger, indicating she would be with her in a moment. Sarah nodded and listened in on the conversation between the principal and the other office worker. He asked the assistant to get a list of the families in the evacuation zone together for him. The woman who had first acknowledged Sarah hung up the phone and stood. "How can I help you?"

"We're one of the families that's been evacuated and we want to—" she paused as a tone sounded through the speakers indicating the end of a class period. When the tone ended, she continued, "—and we want to take our kids with us down to the evacuation center for the rest of the day."

"And your children are…?" the woman asked.

"Sorry. Curtis, Bridget and Martie Woodcomb."

The woman smiled. "Hi, I'm Lori. You must be Mrs. Bartowski."

Sarah smiled. "Yes, I am." A little chill shot through her. Every time someone called her that, it was both thrilling and surreal. It was something she was still getting used to.

When the principal finished his tête-à-tête, he reached out over the counter, offering Sarah a handshake. "Mrs. Bartowski, it's nice to see you again."

"Thank you, Mr. Burns," she said, smiling through the dead fish handshake. "It's nice to see you again, too. I just wish it was under happier circumstances." Thankfully, the handshake didn't last long. She resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her jeans.

"Yes, it's most unfortunate. Sadly, these kinds of things happen up here in the mountains. Did I hear you say you've been evacuated from your home?"

"We have, yes. Since my husband and I are already here to pick up our kindergartener, we thought it would be best to go ahead and take the other children with us while we go to the evacuation center at the high school."

Mr. Burns' smile faltered. "I understand, of course. However, we're asking the parents of the children whose homes have been evacuated to have them stay here at school until the end of the day. We're not in any danger here and we find that children who are under intense upheaval and stress such as this tend to cope better when they stay within their normal routine."

Irritation began to bubble up. "While that's probably true, we have a large family and would really feel better if we had the kids with us for the rest of the day." Her eyes flicked from Mr. Burns to Lori, who gave her a sympathetic look. "We still have to get to the high school and find our other three children. Depending on how things go the rest of today, they might be back at school tomorrow."

At that moment, Chuck and Megan came into the office. As soon as Megan saw her, she dropped Chuck's hand and ran to her side. Looking up at her, Megan said, "Aunt Sarah! Is it true there's a big fire?"

Running a hand across Megan's hair, she said, "Yeah, sweetie. It'll be okay, though."

The little girl nodded, "That's what Uncle Chuck said, too."

"Mr. Bartowski, as I was just explaining to your wife, we think it would be best to keep the other children here so that they can continue in their routine. It's best for them."

Chuck looked confused. He came to stand next to his wife and eyed her. "I thought we decided to have them with us."

"We did." She understood that Mr. Burns was only looking out for the kids, but this was really beginning to bug her. _I really don't want to argue about this anymore_. Addressing Lori, she said, "The Woodcomb children have dentist appointments. We need to sign them out for the rest of the day."

The woman smirked and gave Sarah a quick wink. "I'll have them come here to the office with their things. It'll be a few minutes. Go ahead and sign them out on this sheet here," she instructed, pointing at the page on a clipboard. "You'll need to fill out a line for each child. When you're done, you can have a seat," she said, pointing at the wooden bench that ran along the wall opposite the counter. Lori sat down at her computer and tapped away at the keyboard. After a murmured conversation on the phone, she turned back to her computer and repeated the process.

When Sarah finished signing the children out, Mr. Burns chuckled and said, "We look forward to having the children back at school as soon as circumstances allow."

"We hope they'll be back soon," Sarah answered, relieved that the kids would be with them.

She and Megan sat down at one end of the low bench and gave the two stony faced boys sitting at the other a wide berth. Sarah eyed them surreptitiously. Both looked to be about Bridget's age, and they had clearly had been in some kind of scuffle, most likely on the playground. One sat with his arms crossed, scowling at a fixed point on the counter. The other leaned back, completely relaxed, against the wall. His eyes wandered around the room, never landing on anything for more than a few seconds.

The principal looked at the two and sighed, "Okay, boys, in here with me." They stood and morosely shuffled toward the principal's office.

"I don't think I ever want to be sent to the principal's office," Megan stated quietly, swinging her feet.

"No, you don't," Sarah answered. She had a feeling that under normal circumstances, they would have had a highly entertaining "interrogation" session where Megan would try to find out if Sarah had ever been in trouble when she was in school. This, however, was not a normal time. Instead, Megan sat quietly and looked around the room, her feet continuing to swing above the floor.

Sarah craned around and watched Chuck as he slowly paced up and down the hallway just outside the office doors. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and his face was taut with worry and tension. It pained her to see him this way, but she knew there was little she, or anyone, could do. He dragged his hands across his face and wandered to where the family portraits were affixed to the wall. She watched him stop and glance at them, not really seeing at the pictures. Then something caught his eye and he did a double take. Stepping closer, he narrowed his eyes to get a better look. He stood and stared at it for a full minute. When he walked back to the office and sat down next to her, he wore a small, rueful smile. Concern still filled his eyes, but the deeper lines of intense worry that had creased his forehead had disappeared.

He sighed, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Reaching over, she laced his fingers with hers and pulled his hand onto her lap. She was surprised at how cold it was. It was the first time his hand had ever felt that way to her. "It'll be okay," she said softly.

His eyes opened. "I know," he answered absently. Lifting his head away from the wall, his eyes bored into hers. With a greater intensity in his voice, he repeated, "I know." It was then that she knew it really was going to be okay.

A moment later, Bridget arrived at the office, followed quickly by Martie and then Curtis. Chuck and Sarah waved to Lori as they left the office and headed for the exit. Once outside, the kids stopped dead in their tracks and stared at the smoke now slowly making its way toward them in the wind. "Whoa!" Curtis breathed.

Tears pooled in Martie's eyes. "Is our house gonna burn down?" she asked haltingly.

Chuck picked her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. As they started toward the van, Sarah heard him say, "I don't know. I sure hope not. But if it does, it'll be okay. It's just a house. Wherever we are, as long as we're all together, we're home."

~ O ~

When they pulled into the high school parking lot, all around them was a hive of activity. Two trucks from relief agencies were parked on the sidewalk and workers unloaded supplies into the gym through an open side door. Several vans from Denver television stations, their call letters emblazoned on the sides and communication antennae on top, were lined up one behind the other. Official looking cars and SUVs from various governmental agencies and departments littered the parking lot. In the middle of the grass at the front of the school, a bank of microphones stood at the ready whenever any official information on the fire was to be released.

Chuck found an empty parking space and pulled in. Before they exited the van, he and Sarah turned around in their seats. Four frightened faces stared back at them. Sarah had to swallow down the lump in her throat.

"Stay right by us," Chuck instructed. "We don't know what's going on or where we're supposed to go, so don't go wandering off. If you need anything, like you have to go the bathroom or something, see one of us first, okay?"

They all nodded. Sarah had the feeling that having the kids stay near them wasn't going to be a problem. As they trooped toward the school, Sarah held Martie and Megan's hands while Chuck held Bridget's with one hand and rested the other on Curtis' shoulder. They followed several other families toward the main school building. Once inside, they were met by a volunteer who took their information and directed them to the gym. The grips on Sarah's hands tightened when they entered the large, open space and found a couple dozen subdued evacuees loitering about.

The gym was lined with rows and rows of cots. Cases of bottled water were stacked in a corner. At one end of the room a TV on a rolling stand had the local news playing with the volume turned down low. An aerial shot of huge orange and red flames racing through trees made the bile rise and burn the back of Sarah's throat. Swallowing it down, she saw the kids' eyes glued to the monitor. It was already stressful enough, they didn't need to see that. Turning away from the TV, she said to Chuck, "We need to get the rest of the kids."

"I was thinking the same thing. Let's get them and go somewhere for lunch. We need to talk to them about all of this. You stay here and I'll be back in a few minutes."

She shook her head. "We're coming with you." There was no way she was letting him out of her sight. They were in the midst of an emergency situation, and that meant she wasn't going to let her guard down when it came to his protection.

The school's administration had already set up a separate area outside the office where parents could sign out their kids. It took about half an hour, but eventually Lizzie, Fred and Lisa joined them. Sarah could feel the stares as the nine of them greeted each other. She didn't care. She was just glad to have her family together again.

"Come on. Let's go get something to eat," Chuck said, leading the family out of the school.

In the time they had been inside, things outside had changed. The haze from the fire now obscured the sun and the world around them was tinted in an eerie, muted sepia. The acrid smell of smoke filled her nostrils as they made their way to the van. A warm wind gusted and swirled, blowing hair into her face. Pushing it back, she couldn't stop the thoughts. _This is bad. This is really bad_.

~ O ~

Despite the knot in her stomach, Sarah forced herself to eat the burger Chuck had placed in front of her. The boys, as always, ate with gusto and the girls, while not as enthusiastic as the boys, managed to polish off their food as well. Their meals out were usually fun, raucous affairs, but this time, it was restrained.

Once everyone was finished eating and pensively sipping his or her drinks, Chuck cleared his throat. "Aunt Sarah and I are happy to answer any of your questions, but we might not have any answers. This is what we do know. We can't go back to the house until the authorities tell us we can. It might be before the fire is completely out, it really depends on how fast the firefighters can contain it and what the weather over the next couple of days does. We grabbed some clothes for each of you before we left the house. Anything else we need, we'll buy."

The faces around the table were somber as the girls swiped tears from their cheeks. The boys stared stoically at the food wrappers on the table in front of them. The back of Sarah's eyes pricked as tears threatened.

"I know this is hard," he said. His gaze dropped to the paper straw sleeve he rolled between his fingers, turning it into a tiny, white rope. "All we can do is figure out what to do now."

"What do you mean?" Lizzie asked.

"We have a few options about where we can stay. We can go back to the high school and stay in the gym."

That option was met with scowls and head shaking. Sarah was relieved by that reaction. She didn't want to stay there, either, for many reasons.

"Okay, the high school is out. We could find a hotel to stay in." That option was met with a little more enthusiasm.

"What about staying at Uncle Casey's condo?" Curtis asked.

Sarah nodded. "I thought of that. I've been trying to get in touch with him, but haven't been able to yet. He might be traveling. Until I talk to him, we can't get in."

"Can't you just pick the lock to his front door?" Lisa wondered.

"Pick the lock on Casey's place?" Sarah chuckled. "I probably could, but I don't want to. Knowing him, he has it booby-trapped. I don't feel like being shot with a poisonous dart the minute I open the door."

Eight faces gaped at her. "What?" she asked. "Did I get it wrong?" She glanced from face to face. "Indiana Jones, right?"

Grins erupted around the table. "Good one, Aunt Sarah," Fred said. There were chuckles and sighs. The tension had broken.

"I know how to get into Uncle Casey's apartment," a small voice said. They all turned to Martie. "He told me once, but he said we should only go in if was an emergency. Is this an emergency?"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, I think we can call this an emergency."

Martie sipped her drink and then shrugged. "Okay. Let's go."


	10. Home Away from Home

**A/N: **Thank you for continuing to read, respond and support this story. I appreciate you all.

Thank you to the always marvelous, **AgentInWaiting**, for his unflagging dedication to this story. "You are the wind beneath…" Yeah, never mind.

**Chapter 10 – Home Away from Home**

Bits of black, grey and white ash were carried on the wind and fell on everything, including the family's van. It was nothing like the layers that covered towns and villages after volcanic eruptions, but it was disconcerting just the same. The smoke in the air continued to grow thicker as the fire continued to rage completely out of control.

Chuck slowly drove to Casey's condo, located in a building with an alpine influence. This wasn't particularly noteworthy, since three quarters of the buildings in the town looked like they could be found at the base of the Matterhorn. Thankfully, Chuck and Sarah had been to Casey's place a couple of times before, so they had no problem finding the building again.

Sarah wasn't one hundred percent sure that Martie would be able to get them into Casey's condo, but during a whispered conversation she and Chuck decided to go ahead and have their niece give it a try. Sarah continued to phone Casey and left several messages hoping that perhaps he would call back and advise her how to gain entry. If they weren't able to get in, they would have to try and find a hotel to stay in for the night. That option wasn't a surety either, given the number of people evacuated and looking for places to stay.

The whole family climbed the set of stairs to the second floor and trooped down the hallway toward Casey's condo. It would have been easier to have some of the kids stay in the van, but no one wanted to. The smoke and ash was both depressing and frightening, and truth be told, they all wanted to see if Martie could indeed get them through the front door. And if so, how.

Since she and Chuck had been there before, Sarah knew exactly which door they were looking for. Even if she hadn't known, it was obvious which one was Casey's. While all the doors they had walked past had only the condo number attached, eventually they came to one that wasn't as understated. To the left of the door, a six by twelve inch ceramic American flag was fastened to the wall with four screws. To the right, under the doorbell, there was a terse "No Soliciting" sign. Finally, the simple door numbers had been replaced by an oval brass plaque with the number 227 at the center. Across the top of the oval, a bald eagle with wings outstretched like a sentry guarding the entrance, stared at them with piercing, ever vigilant eyes.

"Very inviting," Chuck said as they all stood around the door.

"Okay, Martie. How do you get in?" Lisa asked.

Curtis snickered. "Maybe she has to say the magic word, like abracadabra."

"No, the magic word is _alohomora_," Bridget replied. "But we don't have a wand."

"Yeah, 'cause if we did, _then_ it would work," Fred teased.

Bridget glared at her brother and was about to respond when Chuck jumped in, "As cool as it would be to be able to simply wave a wand and say the magic word, I'm afraid that won't work." He looked down at Martie. "What did Uncle Casey tell you to do when you got here?"

"He said to say the magic words."

All the kids—except for Megan, who looked enraptured at the idea—groaned and rolled their eyes.

"Now give her a chance," Sarah scolded them gently. "What are the magic words?"

Martie looked directly at the door and said, "Old Glory!"

Unsurprisingly, nothing happened, despite the fact that everyone looked at the door as if were about to magically swing open.

"Maybe he meant we're supposed to go to the store at the mall," Lizzie suggested.

"I don't think Uncle Casey knows about stores at the mall," Lisa replied.

"Not when he shops at Mr. Husky's Big and Tall," Chuck said distractedly. When he realized what he had just uttered, his eyes widened and he looked around as if Casey was about to charge around the corner and come at him like a raging bull. "Don't tell him I said that."

Quiet snickers rolled through the hallway.

"I think I know." Chuck murmured, staring at the wall.

Sarah turned and looked at him. "What are you thinking?" she asked. Following his line of sight to the ceramic flag, she said, "Of course. Old Glory."

"I bet there's a key hidden behind that flag." Chuck dug into his pocket, extracted the keys to the van and dangled them in front of Fred. "Go down to the van and grab the screwdriver out of the glove compartment."

"Can I go with him?" Curtis asked breathlessly.

"Yes, but no messing with anything!" he called to their retreating forms as they ran down the hall. "I don't want the windshield wipers going the next time I turn the van on," he explained to the rest of the group.

The boys were back within two minutes, huffing and puffing after sprinting up and down the stairs. Fred handed the screwdriver to Chuck who took it with one hand and held out his other, palm up. Fred grinned sheepishly and dropped the keys into his uncle's hand.

"Nice try," Chuck said. He handed Sarah the keys to hold and started removing the screws. When the last one was out, she took the screwdriver from him and watched as he carefully pulled the plaque away from the wall and turned it over.

They all crowded around and stared down at the rectangular hide-a-key box attached to the recessed backside of the flag. Chuck removed it and showed it to Sarah. "It looks like the NSA has been busy," she said as she handed off the things in her hands to Lizzie and took the key holder. It was lighter than she expected it to be. "I've seen this. It's made out of some kind of almost indestructible alloy," she said mostly to herself as she hefted it in her hand. On one side she could see where the box opened. Below that was a round, flat button. Turning it over, there was a small camera lens, similar to the one on her phone.

"It's a biometric retina scanner. I've never encountered one this small before." She held it out to Martie. "Have you seen this before?"

"Yup," the little girl nodded her head energetically. "Uncle Casey was at the house one time and he put the camera thingy right up by my eye. There was a funny red light and then he told me that if we ever needed to get into his house in an emergency, to remember the magic words. He made me say them back to him a couple of times to make sure I remembered."

"Good job remembering," Chuck said. He leaned forward and whispered into Sarah's ear, "Remind me to speak to him about scanning our children without permission."

"Mm-hmm," she replied quietly. Sarah put a finger under Martie's chin and gently tipped her head back. Putting the device right in front of one wide blue eye, Sarah said soothingly, "Okay, sweetie, hold really still, just like you did before for Uncle Casey."

Martie's other blue eye stared into hers as she pushed the button. A red light shone on the eye directly in front of the scanner for a second and then disappeared. Two seconds later, the compartment doors sprung open revealing a key. Sarah picked it up out of the box. "Well, it looks like we can go in." She looked at their wary faces. "Fine, I'll go first," she sighed.

All except Sarah moved away from standing directly in front of the door. Four lined up against the wall to the left of the door and four pressed their backs up against the wall to the right.

_Now they've got me paranoid_, she thought as nerves set in. She was about to slip the key into the lock when she stopped. She glanced over to Martie, the key hovering an inch in front of the lock. "Is there anything else Uncle Casey wanted you to remember before we open the door? No 'duck' or 'hold your breath' or 'wait ten seconds before you enter the room'?"

The little girl chewed on her bottom lip with the one front incisor that still remained, deep in thought. After a moment, she shook her head. "No, the only thing he told me to remember was 'Old Glory,'" she recited again.

"Okay, then. Here goes nothing." She stuck the key in the lock and turned it. Slowly turning the doorknob, she cautiously pushed at the door. It swung open revealing Casey's darkened apartment. The faint smell of cigar wafted out. She decided to go ahead and let ten seconds pass before she entered the condo, allowing for any poisonous darts, knockout sprays, electrified nets or bear traps to do their thing before they ventured in. When nothing happened, she warily stepped into the room and flipped on the light switch.

She scanned the room and found it to be as she remembered it the last time she and Chuck had been there. Spartan. Utilitarian. Masculine. Casey. She quickly checked the master bedroom and office. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she called, "It's clear. Come in."

They filed into the front room and found that nine people quickly filled it. The kids immediately fanned through the condo, peeking in rooms, opening the refrigerator, and generally checking everything out. "Let's try to respect Uncle Casey's privacy and not go through his stuff," Sarah told the kids. "And stay away from that cabinet," she continued sternly, pointing to where she knew her partner kept his guns.

Chuck rubbed his forehead. "This is going to be a tight squeeze. Maybe we should try to find a hotel."

That still wasn't her favorite option, but she knew it couldn't hurt to have a backup plan. "Yeah, we should probably look into it." He took out his phone and sat down on the couch, thumbs flying over the screen.

Sitting down next to him, she said quietly, "It will take some creativity, but I think we can make it work. Besides, it will be good practice for us to be able to figure out spur of the moment living arrangements when we go to Europe this summer."

He nodded, distracted by the search on his phone. She did some quick mental math: one bed, one couch, two chairs in the living room—one of which was a recliner—and an office chair. Nine people. _This should be interesting._

"Aunt Sarah," Fred called over to her. "There's no food in the refrigerator except for a bottle of ketchup, two beers and something brown and slimy." There was a pause. "It might be alive." She heard the refrigerator door slam. "I only see cereal and Pop Tarts in the cupboard and I'm hungry."

"Did you look in the freezer? There might be something in there," she answered back. They had only eaten an hour before, but she knew Fred was always hungry.

"Score!" he shouted from the kitchen. "Hot Pockets!"

Curtis came running from the office and yelled, "I want one!"

"Looks like we need to make a run to the store," she said as she heard the microwave door slam.

Noticing that Chuck had raised the phone to his ear, she went to track down the girls. She found Bridget in the office, scanning a low bookshelf, while Megan and Martie sat on the floor making a long chain with some paper clips from a small box. In the hallway, Lisa stood with her hands clasped behind her back and gazed at a framed eight by ten photo hanging on the wall. It only took one quick glance at the smiling man astride a white horse for Sarah to know who it was in the photo.

"Ronald Reagan?" Lisa asked.

"Ronald Reagan," came the reply.

Sarah found Lizzie wandering aimlessly around Casey's bedroom, looking at the framed photos on top of the dresser. Lizzie picked something up from the dresser and held it up so Sarah could see it. Hanging from her fingers was a dangly earring. "Does Uncle Casey have something he needs to tell us about himself?" Lizzie asked impishly.

Sarah made a face. "I don't think so. That's Carina's."

"What is it doing—Oh! EW!" Lizzie made a face and tossed the earring back on the dresser as if it was covered with plague. Wiping her fingers on her shirt, she groaned, "That is just _so_ _wrong_! I need brain bleach."

"You and me both," Sarah grimaced in sympathy.

A minute later, Chuck came up to Sarah and took her hand. He led her to the living room where they both sat down again on the couch. "It looks like we're going to have to stay here, at least for tonight. All the hotel suites big enough for all of us to be together are booked, either by evacuees or people who already had reservations. There are a few single rooms available here and there, but none of them are on the same floors." He rubbed his face with both hands in frustration. She noticed the worry lines were back, creasing his forehead. "Do we try to get two rooms on different floors and have the four oldest stay in one and we have the three younger ones stay with us? Do we stay here? What do you think we should do?"

She placed a hand on his arm. "I think we should stay here."

"We need to stay together."

She shrugged a shoulder. "I think so. And it'll be easier for Vegas and Barstow to do surveillance with us all in the same place."

He took a deep breath and blew it out. "I agree." Looking toward the kitchen, he said, "We need to get to the store. We need groceries and bathroom stuff. You stay here and I'll be back in a while."

"Oh no. _You_ stay here and _I'll_ be back in a while."

"I'm perfectly capable of—"

"Chuck, please, humor me."

"I took the kids by myself to school the other day. I was fine. I wasn't kidnapped by an evil cabal or anything."

She gave him a wordless stare.

"Okay, maybe there were agents following me, but still! I can certainly go to the store right now without an armed escort."

"That was then. This is now." She dropped her voice. "We don't know what the circumstances are surrounding this fire."

He gaped at her incredulously. "You think Fulcrum started this fire because of _me_?" he whisper-shouted.

She sat up straighter. "No, I'm not saying that. If they're still targeting you, though, they might use the chaotic situation we're currently in to their advantage. I need to know you're safe. You need to stay put."

He gave her a hard look. She matched it with her own determined stare.

"Fine," he grumbled sagging back against the couch. "I'll e-mail Graham while you're gone and let him know what's going on."

He still looked and sounded miffed. She took his face in her hands and she looked him straight in the eye. "I know you are perfectly capable of taking care of us. However, you're still an important national asset. I have to keep you safe." His face was still clouded with annoyance. "Having to be evacuated from our home is bad enough. Please let me concentrate on only that and not have to worry whether you're okay at the grocery store."

"Yeah, well, not being able to just go do stuff is getting old," he said, frowning.

"Are you tired of me being around you all the time already?" she pouted, dropping her hands from his face. "I didn't think it would happen quite so soon."

His frown disappeared, but he didn't smile. "Don't tease me."

"I'm sorry. Bad timing." She pushed down her own growing irritation. "Look. We're both stressed and worried and overwhelmed. Let's not make it worse by fighting." She dipped her head to catch his gaze. "Are we okay?"

He swallowed hard and nodded, his countenance clearing. "Request permission for the boys and me to bring in the bags from the van before you go to the store? It'll make room for the groceries."

She leaned in and gave him a kiss. Keeping her face inches from his, she replied softly, "Permission granted." She kissed him again and then sat back. "While you do that, I'll see what the girls need from the store and make a list."

It turned out that they needed a lot of things from the store even after Chuck vetoed buying six different kinds of shampoo. As she climbed into the van to head for the Large Mart, Fred sat next to her in the passenger seat and Curtis sat in the back seat right behind him. She had just pulled out of the condo complex parking lot when she felt Fred's gaze on her.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't get mad," he started cautiously.

She cut her eyes toward him. "Not a great way to start a conversation, Fred." His grin provoked a smirk from her. _He really is impossible_. "And when have you seen me get mad before?"

"Well, you don't, not really. But you get a look in your eyes when someone calls Uncle Chuck a dork or something. And you made that boy cry just by looking at him after he pushed Martie down at the skating rink. So I'm just saying…"

"What did you do?"

He pulled a small, black zippered case from his back pocket. "I kinda took this from Uncle Casey's office." He started to babble when she scowled at him. "Not to keep! I mean, I wasn't gonna steal it or anything. I was gonna put it back when we were done with it."

"What's in the case, Fred?"

"It's the communication thingy Uncle Casey used at the party Ms. Roberts threw the night you and Uncle Chuck danced and kissed."

_What a wonderful, stressful, confusing night that was._ Stopping at a red light, she looked over at him. "Not okay, Fred. You shouldn't have gone through his stuff."

"I didn't! It was just sitting open on top of his desk."

"Where you should have left it."

"I know. And I did, until you asked us to go to the store with you." She waited for him to continue. "I got to thinking about something, so I asked Uncle Chuck when we were unloading the bags from the van if it was okay if I took it and then told you about my idea. He said it was okay with him as long as I didn't lose it or break it." He swallowed hard. "If I do, he said I'll have to tell Uncle Casey what happened to it."

"There's a scary thought. And you were still willing to take it?" The light turned green and she drove through the intersection. "Why didn't you talk to me about it before we left?"

"You were busy talking to the girls and getting the list together. I didn't want to bother you."

"Uh-huh."_ This kid could sell the Brooklyn Bridge_. "What's this idea of yours?"

"Do you have your ear thingy with you?"

"It's called an earwig. And yes, it's in my purse." It was one of the things she made sure to take with her when they left the house.

"Awesome! Listen!" he said, growing more animated. "What if I wore Uncle Casey's and you wore yours while we're at Large Mart? You could give Curtis and me half the shopping list. You can still talk to us _and_ we get the all the shopping done twice as fast."

She glanced over at him. "Or, we could just talk on our cell phones."

Curtis groaned from the back seat. "Come on, Aunt Sarah. This way's a lot more fun."

_Well, that's true_. "You're not going to be wearing it, Curtis. How is that fun for you?"

"Are you kidding? Close enough! It'll be like going on a real _Call of Duty_ mission. Only without the guns and bombs and stuff."

Fred laughed and picked up on his brother's theme. "Yeah! And instead of capturing the flag, we put a jar of peanut butter in our cart."

She chuckled and shook her head. Their whole lives had just been turned upside down—again—by a wildfire threatening to burn down their house and yet these two wonderful boys had the capacity to find something to get excited about. She really wanted to reward this eternal optimism of theirs. _Plus, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to have them learn how to use an earwig_.

Turning the van into the parking lot, she pulled into a space and shut off the engine. Releasing the seatbelt, she squinted at Fred, considering his idea. "If we do this, there's to be no goofing around."

Fred's countenance was the picture of innocence as he nodded his head somberly. She raised an eyebrow and looked back at Curtis, who looked as solemn as a judge. They both seemed to be holding their breaths.

"Okay."

Fred let out a breath and grinned. "Really?"

She nodded. "Really. But like Uncle Chuck said, if anything happens to it, you have to tell Uncle Casey."

"Nothing will happen. I promise," he said, his face shining with excitement.

She withdrew the case that held her earwig from her purse and opened it. Fred did the same with Casey's. Demonstrating with her own, she showed him what to do. "Now, this is a highly sensitive piece of equipment. You need to be very gentle with it. All you need to do is pick it up, flick this tiny switch right here and place it in your ear." She slipped it in her ear and watched as Fred did the same. Quietly, she said, "This is an earpiece where you don't have to speak into a watch or anything. Just speak normally and I'll be able to hear. Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you," he answered, his eyes wide with excitement.

"We'll do a comm check when we get inside the store before we separate." Taking the list from her back pocket, she scanned it, tore it and handed him the top half of it. "This part of the list is all groceries. I'm going to go get the shampoo, toothpaste, and stuff like that. If you have any questions, ask." She raised an eyebrow and warned him, "And remember, I can hear everything you say."

The trek across the parking lot depressed her as smoke hung in the air and small bits of ash fell around them. The jovial mood they had shared in the van evaporated. Once in the store, Sarah grabbed a cart while the boys took one for themselves. "Comm check," Sarah said quietly.

"I can hear you. Can you hear me?" Fred asked breathlessly.

"Copy," Sarah said. At that, Fred's face broke into an impossibly wide grin. She wanted them to be vigilant since they were going to be separated, even if it was for a few minutes, so she said to Curtis, "I want you on Fred's six. Make sure no one is following you. You might see the same people up and down the aisles, but if you think something, anything, weird is going on, you contact me. Understand?"

Curtis nodded and replied, "Roger that."

She winked at them both and pushed her cart away.

"This is so cool!" she heard Fred say. Curious as to how they would proceed, she listened closely to their planning. Of course, she could only hear Fred's side of the conversation, but she was able to fill in what Curtis was probably saying. Rather than taking off down the closest aisle, they discussed the contents of the list and then scoped out the layout of the store. She heard them decide to get the boxed, canned and jarred stuff first, followed by the frozen food and finally the dairy.

Once the boys launched their assault, it was like they were storming the beaches of Normandy. She really wished she could see them as they advanced up and down the aisles, stopping occasionally to lob a can or box into the cart. She heard things through the comm like, "Curtis, mac and cheese at two o'clock" and "leave no loaf of bread behind!" Sarah realized she needed to collect the items on her list just as quickly, or they would be waiting on her.

"Fred, don't buy too much of anything one thing. We're not sure how long we'll be at Casey's," Sarah reminded him.

"Copy." She could hear the grin in his voice when he said that.

"When you get to the frozen food section, grab one of those big lasagnas. We'll have that for dinner tonight."

"Awww, Aunt Sarah, you're not making dinner from scratch?"

"Fred…" she warned.

"Roger, uh, roger that," he answered hastily.

A moment later, she heard him ask Curtis, "You see any bogies?" There was a pause and then he continued, "Well, we keep seeing the same people because they're going up and down the aisles just like us, you dummy."

"Fred, be nice to your brother," Sarah gently admonished.

"Sorry," he said. "Curtis says there's a guy that's been following us, but I think he's just shopping. I haven't actually seen him. Curtis says he wearing a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes."

She stopped and looked toward the food section. "I think I'd better come to you."

"No, it's okay. We're going to go down a different aisle, and double back on him and see what he does."

Now she was concerned and took a few steps in their direction. "Fred, stay where you are and—"

"Oh, hi Mr. Jackson," she heard Fred say. There was a pause while he listened and then he said, "Yeah, my family's been evacuated, too. Say 'hi' to Kyle for me."

"Fred, are you okay? What happened?"

He snorted. "The guy Curtis thought was following us is my _biology_ teacher." She could practically see Fred rolling his eyes. "His son, Kyle, is in my math class."

Sarah stopped and blew out a breath in relief. "So, you're fine?"

"Yeah, we're good."

Now that she was assured her boys were okay, she set off to finish her shopping. "I'll be done in a few minutes. I'll meet you at the rendezvous point," she said. Stopping in front of a bank of brilliantly colored bottles of shampoo, she scanned them until she spotted the kind everyone in the family was willing to use. She selected the biggest bottle available.

"Where's the rendezvous point?" Fred asked.

Scanning the store, she analyzed the layout and answered, "Greeting cards. It's front and center. What's your ETA?"

"My what?" he asked.

"Your ETA. It means 'Estimated Time of Arrival.' Although if you're a Basque separatist, ETA means _Euskadi Ta Askatasuna_."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. When do you think you'll be done?"

After conferring with his brother for a few moments, Fred said, "In about five minutes. We need to get some milk and by the looks of it, we should hurry. The case is almost empty."

"Roger that." She glanced at her watch and said, "I'll meet you at sixteen-thirty hours."

There was a hesitation at Fred's end. Then he blurted, "Oh! Got it. I mean, 'Copy'. We'll be there."

She went back to her shopping and after a moment she heard Fred hiss, "Curtis! See that lady with the giant package of toilet paper in her cart? She's going for the milk and there's only a couple of cartons left! Run interference for me while I go in!"

_I don't even want to know._ However, she smiled when Fred complimented Curtis on his mad "stopping-to-tie-your-shoe-right-in-that-lady's-way" skills. She felt a surge of pride. They were extraordinary boys. _No, that's wrong. They're young men._

It was exactly four-thirty when Fred and Curtis skidded their cart to a stop. Both were grinning and panting. She was pretty sure they sprinted, even with a cart full of groceries, to the meeting place. _I wonder how many people crashed their carts in their wake?_ She scanned the cart to make sure they found everything. "Looks like your mission was a success," she said.

They grinned. "That was fun! Maybe we can get Mrs. Smith to take us shopping with her sometime," Curtis said. "We could make it go really fast."

Sarah laughed at that idea. "I'm not sure she's ready for that." His rascally smile compelled her to reach out a hand and ruffle his hair. "Let's go get in the checkout line."

Once they went through the line and paid for their items, Fred pushed one cart and Curtis pushed the other out the door and into the parking lot, laughing as they went. "The look on the checkout lady's face was hilarious. She couldn't believe how much stuff we bought," Curtis said. "And Aunt Sarah, you were really funny when you said, 'My boys eat a lot!' She thought all of the food was for just for us!"

Sarah smiled and said, "I guess your uncle's sense of humor is rubbing off on me." She wanted to be more cheerful, but was having a hard time. The smoke was ever thickening and it felt like it was pushing in on her from all directions. Once outside for more than a minute, the boys sobered quickly as well. It was almost as if their time in the store had been a respite from the real world. They quickly and quietly loaded the bags in the van. The earwigs were removed and returned to their cases. When they returned to Casey's condo complex, Sarah had Fred text Chuck asking him to help carry up the groceries.

They had barely opened up the back of the van when Chuck strode toward them. He gave Sarah a kiss in greeting. "How did it go?"

"No problems. Mission accomplished, right boys?" They both nodded as they took two bags in each hand.

Chuck took the remaining bags from the back of the van and slammed the door closed. A loud rumble of engines droned directly overhead and made them look up. Flying low over them was a four-engine turboprop airplane. The nose and tail were painted orange and the wings and most of the fuselage were white. A black stripe separated the orange from the white, reminding Sarah of the clown fish in a movie that Martie and Megan liked.

They watched as the plane passed over them. "That's a slurry bomber," Chuck said.

"It's a Lockheed P-3A Orion," Sarah added. When the three gave her surprised looks, she said, "What? I'm a spy. I know stuff."

They smiled and watched the plane fly away from them and toward the fire. "What's that plane going to do?" Curtis asked. "Dump water on the fire?"

"No, it's full of what they call 'slurry.' It works as a fire retardant." Chuck answered as they started their way across the parking lot. "It's a mixture of water and chemical fertilizers. They drop it on areas that haven't burned to hopefully stop the fire from spreading."

"That looks like a cool job!" Curtis said, looking over his shoulder to gaze toward the fire.

"I'm sure it is," Chuck answered. "It's also dangerous. The fire makes the air really unstable and they have to fly really close to the treetops."

"It's really hard to control a small plane in turbulent air," Sarah agreed.

Fred and Curtis stopped and gaped at her. "You know how to fly a plane?" Curtis asked with wonder.

"Mm-hmm. I've had a license for years. It comes in handy in my line of work." She laughed, remembering. "There was this one mission where I had to 'borrow' a plane and fly out of Stockholm when this—" She stopped when three sets of wide eyes stared at her. Schooling her features she said, "That's a story for another time."

The other three chuckled and they all started walking again. "Could you fly one of those slurry bombers?" Fred wanted to know.

She glanced back at the plane. "Sure, but I wouldn't be as effective as the pilots who do it all the time. Like Uncle Chuck said, the air is really turbulent, and yet those guys fly incredibly close to the treetops. You have to be really brave to fly in those conditions."

"Maybe I'll do that someday," Curtis said, looking over his shoulder.

Giving Curtis an encouraging smile, Sarah replied, "Maybe you will. Bravery isn't something you're lacking." He grinned at her compliment.

As they climbed the stairs, Fred said quietly, "I hope the slurry works."

"We all do, buddy," Chuck responded.

~ O ~

Preparing dinner was an easy affair. The frozen lasagna was baked in an oven Sarah was convinced hadn't been used since the Clinton Administration. Frankly, she was relieved it worked at all. The pre-made green salad came from a bag. The food was served to the family on paper plates since Casey's kitchen wasn't exactly stocked for entertaining guests. Before going to the store, Sarah had checked the cupboards for dinnerware. A quick scan of the shelves made her think that when equipping his kitchen, her partner had spent approximately four dollars at a garage sale for everything. The cupboard contained three Cool-Whip bowls, four chipped, mismatched dinner plates and some pilfered coffee mugs from an NSA break room. The only thing he seemed to have purchased new was a set of four whiskey tumblers. The silverware drawer was basically in the same state as the cupboard with its four spoons, five forks, three dinner knives and a bottle opener. It did make for easy clean up as everything went straight into either the recycling bin or a trash bag.

After dinner, the family filled the living room as they sat around the television and watched the local news' coverage of the fire. A meteorologist swirled his hands over a green screen map, explaining wind patterns and pointing out a moisture-laden storm coming toward them from the west. If they could endure "the warm before the storm," the incoming storm would do much to help knock the fire down. Right after the weather report, aerial footage showed a house being consumed by flames. The room fell silent as they watched someone's home be destroyed.

"Is that our house?" Martie asked, her voice trembling as she stared at the TV from her spot on the floor.

"No, it's not, pumpkin," Chuck said. Sarah, from her vantage point on the floor, observed the grim faces around her. Some eyes were dry as they stared, almost unseeing, at the TV. Others were glassy with unshed tears. Martie couldn't stop her tears as they silently rolled down her cheeks. When Sarah's eyes fell on her husband, he wore the same bleak expression as the others. When he looked back at her, they embarked on a silent conversation that consisted of furrowed brows, eye-pointing, small headshakes and tiny nods. "We need to find something a little more fun to watch." Chuck picked up the remote and changed the channel to a singing competition show.

Lizzie groaned at the young woman on the stage mutilating _Rolling in the Deep_. "When will they learn that no one should sing Adele but Adele?" she grumbled. Lisa scowled at the singer and nodded.

Chuck had no comment on that so he said, "I think it's time for Martie and Megan to go to bed."

"Where will we sleep?" Megan asked, her brow knit in confusion. "It isn't very big here and there's only one bed."

Chuck pressed the mute button. "We were thinking you and Martie would sleep in Uncle Casey's bed since you'll go to bed first. Bridget might be able to fit, too, a little later." He looked at Bridget who nodded. "The rest of us will sleep on the couch, in chairs and on the floor. Sorry, but we don't have much choice." They nodded glumly.

Sarah stood and held her hands out to the two youngest. "I'll help you get to bed." It didn't take long since really all they could do was brush their teeth with their new toothbrushes and put on the one pair of pajamas they each had. Spy Barbie and Martie's teddy bear had been retrieved and held firmly by the ones who loved them. Once the girls were tucked in the bed, Sarah sat on the edge and brushed back Martie's bangs while Chuck sat on the other side next to Megan.

"What if our house burns down?" Megan asked in a small voice.

"Then we build a new one," Chuck answered simply.

"Would we live with Uncle Casey until the new house is built?" Martie wondered.

Sarah chuckled softly. "No, it's a little too small here for that. Can you imagine how crowded it would be when Uncle Casey comes back?"

Martie's small smile came and went quickly. "Is he mad that I told how to come in?" she asked barely above a whisper.

"No, he's not," Sarah assured her. "I got a text from him a little while ago and you know what he said? He said he was really proud of you that you remembered everything exactly like he told you to."

Her eyes grew wide. "He did?" she breathed.

"Mm-hmm."

Sarah smiled at the wide grin.

"I got a text from him, too. He was happy to have us stay here," Chuck added. "We just have to make sure there aren't any teddy bears or Spy Barbies left here after we leave."

Three sets of blue eyes stared at him. "Well, actually he said," he dropped into his best Casey voice and growled, "'Don't leave a mess or I'll put my boot so far up your—'" He stopped. "You know what? We'll just make sure we don't leave a mess."

The three girls giggled.

Chuck leaned down and kissed Megan's forehead and then Martie's. Sarah then did the same. "If you need anything, we'll be right in the living room, okay?"

"Okay," they both answered.

Chuck followed Sarah out of the room and shut the door part way so that a shaft of light made its way into the bedroom. "Goodnight," he called through the partially open door.

"Goodnight," the small voices called back.

They had just stepped away from the door when Chuck stopped and enveloped Sarah in his arms. She let out a sigh, rested her head on his shoulder and held him close. There was no urgency or desperation in the embrace, like the ferocious hug she had given him in the cemetery when he was safely away from Shaw. Nor did she feel as if she was in a rushing river and he was a boulder she had to cling tightly to or else be swept away. No, this was an embrace of succor. It was a place of rest.

They held each other for a few moments, drawing strength. Eventually, she felt him lessen his hold on her. She picked her head up from his shoulder and raised her eyes to meet his. In them, she saw a myriad of emotions: uncertainty, apprehension, concern, all of which were overcome by the love and gratitude that shone through. Wordlessly, they shared a tender kiss and then walked down the hallway together to join the rest of the family.

Fred was firmly ensconced in the recliner. He clearly planned on spending the rest of the night there. Lizzie sat sideways in the other chair with her head resting on one armrest and her feet dangling over the other side. Curtis and Lisa sat on opposite sides of the couch.

"Where's Bridget?" Sarah asked.

"She's in the office reading. She said a book by a guy named Ludlum sounded interesting," Lisa answered, scooting to the middle of the couch so Chuck and Sarah could squeeze in.

Sarah looked at the TV. A World War II German soldier was escorting a handsome blond man in khakis and a leather jacket to a cooler. The prisoner carried with him a baseball and mitt. "What are you watching?"

"We didn't want to watch the news and there's nothing good on TV, so we went through Uncle Casey's DVDs," Fred said. "Everything he owns is either John Wayne or World War II movies. Sometimes both in the same one."

"What made you pick this one?" Chuck asked.

Curtis rolled his eyes. "The girls liked the guy on the cover because he has 'blue, blue eyes,'" he teased, mimicking the girls' voices.

Lizzie shot Curtis a dirty look. "Maybe he does have blue, blue eyes, but the movie is pretty good so far, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Curtis drawled as if he hated to admit it to his sister.

The couch was crowded, but Sarah didn't mind sitting close to Chuck, his arm around her shoulders. "What's going on in it?" Sarah asked.

"The British and American guys are trying to escape from the Germans. They're being held in a prisoner of war camp. They're digging tunnels to get out. That's pretty much it," Lisa said.

"It's nice to get up to speed so quickly," Chuck said as Sarah felt him absently rub his thumb on her arm. As they watched the movie in silence, she suddenly felt a bone weary fatigue overtake her. There was a part of her that thought she should be so worried and wired, that she shouldn't be able to sleep. But emotions of the day had drained her of all her energy and all she could manage was to stare numbly at the TV.

Chuck's frequent sighs told her he wasn't particularly engaged in the movie. Sneaking a glance at him, she saw that his gaze was unfocused and he was obviously preoccupied. At this point, all she hoped for him, and everyone, was to get some sleep. With the upheaval around them, Chuck and Sarah had decided to let the kids stay out of school the next day, so they would be able to sleep as long as they wanted to.

Her eyelids drooped and she found it impossible to keep her eyes from crossing as she tried to watch the movie. She leaned her head back on Chuck's shoulder and fell asleep just as "Tom" was discovered.

In the distance, where earth and sky met, the night was smudged yellow, orange and red as the fire raged.


	11. Eyes to the Skies

**A/N the first: **Have you grown tired of me saying how much I appreciate all of you? How much I enjoy reading your reviews, seeing your alerts, receiving your tweets? If you have, then skip the rest of this paragraph because I'm going to say once again, "Thank you" and "I'm honored." If I haven't responded to you personally, please know that I am grateful for each and every response I receive. And please, keep them coming.

Thank you to **AgentInWaiting** woh continues to werk his majik. (He doesn't beta the A/Ns. Kin yew tel?) Seriously, each and every chapter would be riddled with typos, mistakes, sketchy grammar and half-baked ideas if it weren't for him. So as always, I say, "Thank you."

Finally, thank you to every firefighter who bravely puts his or her life on the line to save lives and property. They are true heroes.

**Chapter 11 – Eyes to the Skies**

Sarah swayed in the back of a cargo plane as it bounced and dipped in the turbulence. On her knees with her hands tied behind her, she worked to keep her balance every time the plane was tossed about. Surrounding her, the three large, white tanks labeled "Tom," "Dick" and "Harry" were filled with a thick, rust colored liquid. Each drop and shudder of the airplane caused the concoctions to slosh up the sides of the sizable vats. Her eyes darted about frantically as she tried to figure out a way to get her hands untied. She needed to subdue the pilot, take over the plane and fly to freedom. Twisting and contorting, she managed to get to her feet. When she looked out the plane's windshield, it didn't fill her with a sense of hope. For beyond the windshield, the world was nothing but a wall of grey. There was a single pilot at the plane's controls with a shiny black helmet sitting on his broad, cape-covered shoulders. A gasp escaped when he turned and stared at her with vacant, goggle-like eyes.

Behind her she heard a _kkkssssshh, vwooom, vwooom._ She twisted and saw Chuck in a fireman's jacket wielding a green lightsaber. "Hi, honey," was all he said.

Music filled the cabin of the plane. _Is that the _Imperial March_? What is going…"_ Sarah jerked her head up, her eyes still closed and her brain muddled from the strange dream. It took another ten seconds before she realized it was her phone filling Casey's living room with music.

During the night, she and Chuck had shifted slightly as they settled into the sofa. Reclining, the upper half of his body was wedged into the corner and his long legs hung off the side. Sarah, draped across him, was using his chest as a pillow. She shifted off of him slightly and reached out toward the sound. Groping around the floor, her fingers brushed against the phone. Fumbling to pick it up, she dropped it once before she secured and retrieved it.

She put her other forearm across Chuck's chest and levered herself up. Her face was inches from his when he lifted his head and gazed at her with confused, sleepy eyes. He blinked at her a couple of times and then his head dropped back against the top of the couch. _God, he's adorable_.

Clearing her throat, she attempted to dislodge the coating left there by hours of sleep and answered the call. "Good morning, Director," she said, her voice still raspy despite her efforts.

Without preamble, the director began, "General Beckman and I are currently meeting regarding Major Casey's involvement in your trip to Europe. She was aware from news reports that there is a fire in your area. When I mentioned that you and your family had been evacuated from your home, she wanted to call and get a sitrep."

General Beckman chimed in, "How are you all faring, Agent Walker?"

"So far, we're doing okay, ma'am. Thank you for asking," she answered quietly. "We spent the night at Major Casey's condo. It's crowded, but overall, we're fine."

A rustling noise from the other end of the couch caused Sarah to glance over her shoulder. Curtis, using his sweatshirt as a pillow, rolled over and heaved a sigh. Lizzie was curled up in the same chair she had watched the movie in. When Sarah looked toward the recliner, she was not surprised to see Fred, flat on his back, sound asleep.

"I'm glad you're all okay," Beckman said. "Are you safe? Do you and the family need to be extracted? We can order a chopper and have you evacuated anywhere you choose to go. Cheyenne Mountain isn't too far away and one of the most secure facilities in the country."

"Thank you, General, that's very considerate of you, but I don't believe that's necessary. We have no reason to believe the fire is anything other than an act of nature. And our security detail is still in place."

"Have you heard anything about the condition of your house?" the other woman asked.

Sarah sighed. "No, unfortunately, we don't know anything."

The conversation fell silent, and Sarah wondered if the call had been dropped. "Agent Walker—Sarah—I'll make some calls on your behalf. I have some ideas as to how we can get you some information on your house."

"Really? You'd do that for us?"

"Of course," Beckman replied without hesitation. "You, your husband and family are great assets to this country. You deserve to have someone looking out for you. What's the good of being a general if I can't use my rank once in awhile? I can certainly pull some strings and see what we can find out."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm touched… and grateful," Sarah said, her voice thick with emotion.

"I'll get back to you as soon as I know anything. It might take some time, however. Until then, stay safe."

"Thank you, ma'am. We will."

"And Agent Walker, be sure to forward to us the itinerary for your trip as soon as you get it," Director Graham ordered.

Sarah wanted to snap that she had more important things to worry about. Instead, she said, "Yes, sir. As soon as we get it."

"Very well," the director said and clicked off.

_Always the charmer_. She tapped the screen to end the call and glanced at the time on her phone. It was six-fifteen. She groaned and dropped her head back down to Chuck's chest. He was pretty comfortable to sleep on which was not news to her. Her barely-above-a-whisper conversation with Beckman hadn't seemed to have bothered the other occupants of the room and she really didn't want to be awake yet. The day was going to be stressful enough. She didn't want to start dealing with it until the last possible moment.

The rhythmic rise and fall of her husband's chest lulled her into a dozing sleep. It wasn't a deep, drool inducing sleep, so about an hour later, when she heard someone in the bathroom, she stirred awake. Like a ninja, she got up off the sofa without disturbing its other occupants and walked softly toward Casey's bedroom. She peeked in to see Martie and Bridget under the covers, with an empty spot where Megan had been. Lisa lay sideways across the foot of the bed, curled up under Casey's heavy winter coat. The ability of these kids to adjust to new and difficult situations never ceased to amaze her.

The bathroom door opened and Megan padded out, Spy Barbie in tow. "Aunt Sarah, did our house burn down?" the little girl whispered.

Sarah knelt down to her level. "I don't know, sweetie. As soon as we know anything, we'll let you know, okay?"

Megan nodded, her blonde hair lumpy from sleep. Sarah knew hers probably didn't look much better. "Do you want to go back to bed for awhile?"

"No," her youngest said, slowly shaking her head. "I'm hungry."

Standing, she took Megan's hand and said, "I'll get you some cereal."

Within half an hour, everyone was up eating, sitting at any empty place they could find. Chuck had the TV turned to the news, watching to gain any information on what was now known as the "Widow's Gulch" fire. It had not significantly advanced overnight, but as the sun rose and the assault on the fire began anew, the fire was fighting back. The winds began to pick up, but as of yet, they weren't strong enough to ground the aerial attack. They heard slurry bombers rumble overhead and watched helicopters on the news drop huge buckets of water on hotspots. The best hope in gaining control of the blaze firmly remained on the rapidly approaching storm.

As the morning wore on, the kids grew bored and restless. Sarah knew that in such close quarters, and with nothing to do, a pretty serious row could erupt at any time. There had already been a couple of minor skirmishes she and Chuck quickly put a stop to, but they both knew it might only be a matter of time before a crater took the place of where Casey's condo used to be. In their whispered conversation, they floated and shot down different ideas for something to keep the kids occupied. The air quality outside was bad from the smoke so doing anything "outdoorsy" was out of the question. They both agreed that sending them to school was a non-starter. They didn't want to leave the area, so doing something in Denver wasn't an option either. Daytime television was awful and they didn't want to immerse the kids in the fire coverage all day, so the TV needed to stay off. Going to see a movie was the only thing they came up with. They planned to do so later if the kids could survive each other until then.

In the meantime, Sarah had to find something to keep them occupied. Racking her brain, she scanned the room, hoping inspiration would hit. When her eyes fell on Casey's locked gun cabinet, it did. She hoped Chuck would be okay with her proposal.

"I'm not sure you showing them your gun is such a good idea. Don't you think it will give them the feeling that they can touch it if they know more about it?" he asked.

"I'm hoping this will do the opposite, that it will take away the mystery and they'll learn how important it is to be safe," she replied. When she saw the dubious look on his face, she added, "I have and will continue to keep my ammunition and loaded magazines locked in a separate safe away from the pistol itself, which has its own lockbox. In my line of work and with us going to Europe with Casey, they're bound to be around guns. A lot."

He considered her words and slowly nodded.

A few minutes later, Sarah sat at the kitchen table with a chamois she had found in an unlocked drawer of Casey's gun cabinet laid out in front of her. On top of it was her Smith & Wesson 5906. The rest of the family sat next to or stood behind her, looking on.

She sat sideways in her chair and twisted around to address them. In a firm, businesslike tone, she said, "I'm going to show you my gun. I know you've seen it before, but never really up close. Before I start, I want to remind you that you are still never to touch it unless I'm there and tell you it's okay to do so. You got that?" Everyone, including Chuck, nodded soberly.

Satisfied with their response, she continued. "Safety first and always. You must always handle any firearm as if it were loaded. Even when you know it isn't, pretend that it is. That's just good gun safety. Always point the gun in a safe direction, again, even if you know it's not loaded. And never put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to shoot."

Turning back toward the table, she carefully picked up the pistol and removed the magazine. When it slid out of the grip and into her awaiting palm, there were audible gasps and a murmured "cool." Holding up the magazine for them to see, she said, "This magazine is empty, but it will hold fifteen rounds." Then she checked the chamber to make sure it didn't contain a round. She demonstrated how the slide worked, explained the difference between single and double action triggers, and showed them the safety. Then she took the gun apart by pushing out the pin and pulling the slide off the frame. She removed the recoil spring and rod and then the barrel from the slide, laying out all the pieces on the chamois. As she deftly reassembled the gun, she reiterated the importance that they were to never touch any firearm of any kind unless she was there to supervise.

The gun demonstration was a great success. It was Lizzie who asked, "Aunt Sarah, why did you show us this now? I mean, you've lived with us for almost a year now and this is the first time you've done something like this."

"I guess," she started and looked to Chuck to see if she could tell them the rest. It seemed like weeks since they had received permission from Graham to go to Europe when in reality, it had only been the day before. His wink told her to go ahead. "I guess I want you to be comfortable around it since I'll be taking my gun with me when we all, Uncle Casey included, go to Europe this summer."

The room exploded with all the kids talking at once. _At least they're not at each other's throats anymore._ She stood, picked up the pistol and magazine and returned them to her purse. "Where's your loaded clip?" Chuck asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she said with a wicked smile.

"I would." His eyes slowly gave her the once over.

"You're getting warmer," she teased.

He pulled her to him and growled, "You have no idea." When she chuckled he said, "You're just trying to get my mind off the house, aren't you?"

"Maybe. Is it working?"

He whispered in her ear, "Let's just say the forest isn't the only thing on fire."

She pulled back and gave him a thoughtful look. "Have you ever thought about wearing a fireman's coat?"

~ O ~

As lunch was being consumed, the topic of conversation was on what movie to go see. It became clear rather quickly that the older and younger kids might end up seeing different movies. Chuck went off to consult his laptop to see what was playing.

Sarah's blood ran cold when she glanced at his face. Something was terribly wrong. She went to him immediately and sat down next to him on the sofa. "Chuck! What is it?" She was afraid of the answer.

Still staring at the screen he said, "One of the local news websites has a link to a list of addresses where there's been fire damage." He paused and then looked at her with disbelief in his eyes. "Our address is on the list," he whispered.

She gripped his arm to steady herself and found it hard to breathe. His words repeated in her head. "Damage? What do they mean by 'damage'?"

"I don't know," he answered numbly. His unfocused gaze returned to the screen.

"Maybe the house is just damaged but not destroyed then." She gripped his arm tighter. "The news said the fire hasn't reached our neighborhood yet. Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe…" She stopped. There were a million maybes. She released the death grip on his arm, but left her hand there. "What do we tell the kids?"

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "The truth. But let's wait until we know more before we say anything, okay?"

All she could do was nod. He closed the laptop and put it on the floor. Taking her hands in his, they sat in dazed silence. She wasn't sure how long they remained like that and it was only when the sounds of a brewing argument penetrated the fog in her brain that she was roused to movement. Distractedly, she refereed the conflict and sent the offending parties to separate rooms to cool off for a few minutes. She returned to where Chuck still sat on the sofa. The look on his face had changed from one of complete devastation to firm resolve. She gazed into his eyes, silently questioning him.

"I've lived through my parents leaving and my sister and brother-in-law being killed in a car accident," he said, his voice edged with anger. "For years, I single-handedly raised seven kids. I've been threatened by a cabal of bad guys, and kidnapped and nearly blown up by an asshole traitor. I'll be damned if I let a little thing like my house burning down break me." His eyes burned with determination.

She reached out and placed a hand on his cheek. The dread that had hung around her began to lift. His body, which during his speech had been coiled like a spring, relaxed. "We're in this together," she said simply.

He took her hand and kissed her open palm. Their moment was interrupted when her phone rang from her back pocket.

She heaved a sigh and answered the call. Before she could say anything, General Beckman said, "Agent Walker, I have news about your home."

"Yes, ma'am. Chuck and I just saw it on a website that lists homes that have fire damage."

The general hesitated. "I'm not sure where you're getting your information, Agent Walker," she said slowly, "but as of now, your house is fine."

Sarah sat up straighter. "What? I don't understand." Her eyes cut to Chuck's who looked at her questioningly.

"I ordered an NSA satellite to be retasked to ascertain the condition of your house. That took some time. The images from it downloaded just a few minutes ago. I'm sending them now to Chuck's e-mail account. I assume you have access to a computer."

"Yes, ma'am." She pointed at the laptop on the floor and mouthed "E-mail." Into the phone she said, "Chuck's logging in right now."

He was clearly puzzled, but did as she directed.

Beckman said, "I can understand why there is some confusion, but as of ten minutes ago, your house remains unaffected by the fire."

_What the hell is going on?_ "I'm not sure I understand, General. How could—" She stopped when Chuck's eyebrows shot up and nearly hit his hairline. Leaning closer to the screen, he examined the satellite image. She put her head right next to his and stared at the image. The time stamp at the corner indicated that it had been taken twelve minutes before. There the house stood, clearly intact. Some of the trees in one area at the edge of the backyard grass were blackened. There was a scorched mark on the ground where the gazebo once stood.

"The damage wasn't to the house," she said to herself, more than anyone else.

"That is correct," Beckman said. "I'm sorry about the outlying building, but I'm sure you're relieved to know that the main house is untouched."

Sarah blew out a breath. "Yes, General, we certainly are." She watched Chuck sag back against the couch and gape at her, thoroughly stunned. "I'm confused, though. How did only that area burn when the fire hasn't progressed there yet?"

"Our analysts believe that embers landed in the trees at the edge of your property. Next to them a structure—a gazebo if memory serves—burned along with the trees. The smoke was most likely seen by spotters and a helicopter would have been dispatched immediately to drop water on that hot spot."

She was suddenly very thankful for the backyard grass and the distance it put between the woods and the house. "Have your analysts projected what they believe will happen next with the fire?" Sarah questioned. She decided it couldn't hurt to ask. NSA analysts weren't exactly stupid.

"Yes. If you'll look at the other image I sent, you'll find a wider view." Sarah turned the laptop toward her and clicked open the other image. "You'll note your house and the current fire line are marked in blue. The fire is approximately a half-mile from your house. We understand from authorities on the ground there that they are throwing every available resource, both air and ground, at this line. They believe they'll be able to hold it. I think you can be cautiously optimistic that the house will come through this unscathed."

_Cautiously optimistic is better than nothing._ "We will be, ma'am."

"Very good. I have one other piece of news. We've contacted the National Weather Service and they have informed us that the storm coming from the west should bring a significant amount of moisture. You should be noticing a drop in temperature within a few hours."

Relief flooded her and the distress of the last half hour drained away. "General, I can't thank you enough for looking out us." She paused and cleared her throat as the emotions nearly overwhelmed her. "I'm… we're so very grateful to you."

"It has been my pleasure to help you and your family during this difficult time," Beckman said officiously. Her tone softened as she said drily, "Like I said earlier, what good is it being a general if I don't get to throw my weight around once in awhile?"

Sarah chuckled and said, "Well, I'm glad you were able to do so on our behalf. Thank you again."

"You're very welcome and if there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to contact me. Goodbye, Sarah."

"Goodbye, General." Sarah lowered the phone from her ear and stared at it in her hand. She looked at Chuck, who was as dumbstruck as she. "Did you hear any of that?" she asked.

He nodded. "We haven't lost the house after all."

"No. The fire isn't out yet, and it's not too far away from the house. But between the firefighters and the incoming storm, it looks good for us." She blew out a gust of air and flopped against the back cushion.

Lizzie came into the room. "What is it? You two look like you've seen a ghost."

Chuck smiled and called all the kids to join them. Once they were assembled, Sarah relayed the phone conversation she had just had with Beckman. While she and Chuck couldn't go so far as to assure the kids that nothing else would happen to the house—the fire wasn't completely extinguished—what she did tell them helped to alleviate some of the anxiety.

In order to help pass the time, the family decided to go ahead with their plans to see a movie. Unexpectedly, they were able to agree on one that everyone was willing to watch, although the boys were sure the chosen film wouldn't contain enough explosions for their taste. As they made their way across the parking lot and into the movie complex, the sun shone through the smoky haze hanging in the air. The lobby was crowded for a weekday, which wasn't particularly surprising since most of the patrons were evacuees like themselves.

When they left the theater two and a half hours later, the world outside had changed. The sky was grey, not from smoke but from the low clouds that had rolled in. The temperature had dropped, just like it had been forecast, and there was a definite chill in the air.

As they returned to Casey's condo, the first few flakes of snow drifted down around them. The kids jumped out of the van and ran up the stairs. Chuck took Sarah's hand as they trailed behind the kids and said, "I don't think I've ever been so happy to see snow before."

With a relieved sigh, she squeezed his hand and replied, "Me either."

~ O ~

Mother Nature, which could be firefighters' biggest foe when battling a blaze, turned out, in the end, to be their greatest ally. The fire fighting effectiveness of helicopters, slurry bombers, chainsaws and various sorts of heavy equipment paled in comparison to the thick, white, moisture-laden layer of wet spring snow that blanketed the area overnight. Confident that the fire would not advance on snow covered ground and trees, the authorities lifted the evacuation order and everyone was allowed to return to their homes.

Despite their attempts to keep Casey's apartment as clean as possible, nine people living in it for a couple of days caused a bit of a mess. So before they left, the kids were put into teams with each team given an area to clean. Mixing in some spy training, Sarah told the kids that a good spy never left any evidence behind, so she challenged them to clean so thoroughly that not even a fingerprint would be found. With this directive, the kids enthusiastically set to work. They scrubbed the bathroom, emptied the kitchen of anything that could spoil—including the brown "science project" that lived in the fridge since before their arrival—washed the sheets and remade the bed. Every surface was wiped clean and the entire floor was vacuumed.

"I think Uncle Casey's place is cleaner than it was when we got here," Martie mentioned to Sarah as they wiped down the kitchen table.

Sarah smiled and replied, "I think you're right."

The bags—and Lizzie's laundry basket—were packed up and stowed in the van when Sarah made her final inspection. Each team stood at attention next to the area they had cleaned. Trying to give it the appropriate amount of seriousness, she couldn't look at Chuck as he leaned a shoulder against a wall and watched. The smirk on his face and the amusement in his eyes would have caused her to break into laughter.

All eyes followed her as she moved from room to room. She checked under the bed to make sure there weren't any stray socks hidden there. She scanned the bathroom to ensure the "girly" shampoo had been removed. She checked the office for stray books or papers left out. She scrutinized the handles on the refrigerator and microwave and found them fingerprint free.

At the end of her inspection, the kids were lined up in the living room, awaiting her final pronouncement. Sarah looked them over and with great pride she said, "You are excellent spies." Grins erupted and held breaths were released with gusto.

They filed out the door and stood in the hall. As Chuck closed and locked the door, the only thing they left behind was a homemade thank you card that Martie and Megan had made. Each of them, including Chuck and Sarah, had signed it and it now sat on the kitchen table awaiting Casey's return.

Before they left, there was one more thing that had to be done. Chuck returned the key to its box, reattached the box to the back of the flag and reaffixed the flag to the wall. When the final screw was tightened, Chuck turned back to his family and said, "Let's go home."

~ O ~

As the van came around the final bend, they all peered out the window to make sure the house still stood just the way they had left it. When it came into view, a cheer went up.

Once safely in the garage, the kids tumbled out and waited impatiently for Chuck to unlock the door. When he pushed it open, the kids sprinted past him and disappeared into the house. "I guess they're glad to be home," he said to Sarah, stating the obvious with a smile.

She returned his smile as she neared him. "I know I am," she replied as she slid her arm around his waist. Arms around each other, they strolled through the house to find it exactly the way they had left it in such a hurry a couple of days before. The only difference now was that it smelled of smoke.

The kids banged and thumped around upstairs, obviously checking their rooms to ensure everything was in order. "I bet they'll be happy to sleep in their own beds tonight," Sarah said, glancing up toward the bedrooms.

"As much as I enjoyed being your pillow," he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her, "I'm looking forward to getting into bed with you tonight."

She stopped in the middle of the living room, turned and put both hands on the sides of his face. Pulling his head down, she kissed him. She hoped it would convey to him what her words could not: pride, relief, gratitude, comfort, devotion, love.

Several sets of feet bounded down the stairs and headed for the kitchen, completely ignoring her and Chuck locked in their kiss. It wasn't until the door to the backyard opened that they reluctantly parted. "Where are you guys going?" Chuck asked.

"We want to go see the burned up gazebo," Fred replied as he tromped out the back door and down the snow covered stairs. His brother and sisters followed him out.

"Do you want to go see, too?" Chuck asked.

Although she was grateful that the house had been spared of damage, she was sad that the gazebo—a place where so many important things in her life had taken place—was now gone. With a wistful sigh, she said, "Yeah, let's go."

As they trudged across the snow, she wished she had put on snow boots. However by the time they reached the place where the gazebo had once stood, she didn't care about her feet anymore. They all stood motionless before the jarring scene. Charred two-by-fours toppled over each other like a pile of pick up sticks. The blackened wood appeared even more ominous when contrasted against the pure, white snow that covered it. Burned pine trees stood tall and thin, their branches stripped of every needle. The trees that hadn't burned but had been exposed to the intense flames were scorched and brown on one side.

"Whoa!" Curtis breathed. "That could have been the whole house." The truth in his words made Sarah involuntarily shudder.

"Yes, but it wasn't, so let's be glad that it was only the gazebo that was lost," Chuck said.

They stood there for another minute, taking in the scene. When the kids grew cold and bored, they stomped up the stairs and back into the house.

Sarah swiped at the wetness on her cheeks with the cuffs of her sweatshirt that were pulled over her hands. Chuck slipped a comforting arm around her and pulled her to his side. Sniffing, she chuckled through her tears. "It's stupid," she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Our house is fine and here I am crying over the gazebo."

"It's not stupid. I know how important this place is to you… to us. Our talks, the engagement." He kissed her temple. "The first time you told me you loved me."

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she said, "I know I could never forget the things we've said here, our times together, but every time I saw it, walked past it, or sat in it… it made all those memories flood back and remind me of how lucky I am."

Chuck sighed and hugged her closer. "Hopefully the new gazebo will be able to do the same thing for you. We'll make new memories, too."

She stared at his profile as he gazed at the jumble of charred wood. "We're going to rebuild it?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't we?" he said as if it were a foregone conclusion. "The question is, do you want it to be exactly the same or new and improved?"

She didn't need to even think about it. "Exactly the same."

"I had a feeling you would say that," he responded with a smile. "I have the original plans in the office somewhere. I think the same guys who built the first one are still in business. I'll give them a call."

She looked up at the blackened pine trees. "We can plant some new pine seedlings, too." The heaviness in her heart began to lighten.

"Good idea. I'll call the landscaper and have him get some for us."

They turned and tramped through the snow back toward the house. "Who knew normal life was filled with so much adventure," she mused.

He gave her a knowing smile as they climbed the stairs together. "I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but with seven kids, we'll never be normal."

She chuckled. "Then normal is overrated. I wouldn't want us any other way."

~ O ~

Three days of stress and two nights of sleeping at Casey's had taken its toll. Martie and Megan could barely stay awake through dinner and were sent off to bed soon thereafter. The older kids stayed up a little later, but were growing short tempered. Since they had school the next day, Chuck and Sarah made them go upstairs earlier than normal. The fire Chuck had built earlier in the fireplace had now turned to glowing embers. Staring at the coals and feeling the warmth they gave, Sarah couldn't help but wonder at enjoying the effects of a fire rather than fearing them.

She took a sip of wine and gently set the glass on the coffee table. Leaning back against the armrest of the sofa, one of her sock-clad feet rested on Chuck's lap. The other, he massaged. His hands were doing things to it that made her literally moan with pleasure.

"You make it impossible for me to care about what's on this piece of paper when you're doing _that_," she murmured. The paper in question dropped to her lap and she sighed with delight when he pushed and rubbed his thumb, hard, at the center of her arch. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the back of the couch and purred, "I think you missed your calling. You have magic hands."

"I'm not sure how much money I could make being a foot masseuse, but I suppose I could give it a try. I'm sure there are lots of bored housewives out there that would enjoy a patented Chuck Bartowski foot massage."

She opened her eyes and peered at him. "On second thought, those fingers of yours are better off at a computer keyboard. And all patented Chuck Bartowski foot massages are exclusively reserved for your wife."

"Fiiiiine," he breathed in mock exasperation. "First I can't date and now you're robbing me of a potential livelihood." If he was trying to look put out, he was failing miserably. He couldn't hide from her the delight in his eyes. He dropped the foot he had been working on onto his lap, took the other foot in his hands and started in on it. She reclosed her eyes and released a throaty, contented groan.

"What do you think of the itinerary for Europe? It landed in my inbox this morning, but with everything going on, I didn't read it until this evening. Do you think Graham can wait to see it until tomorrow?"

"He's going to have to because you're not going to stop what you're doing to call him."

"Yes, ma'am." Her eyes were still closed, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

She reveled in his touch before rousing herself enough to respond to his earlier question. She turned the list of cities over in her mind. "I gave the itinerary only a cursory glance since I'm a bit… distracted," she said, smiling as he kneaded her foot. "It'll certainly be a busy trip. I assume we'll be traveling mostly by train or airplane."

"I assume so, too. We're going to depend a lot on you. The kids and I have never been out of the country."

She lifted her head from the back of the couch and looked at him. "All the cities we'll be visiting are so wonderful. I hope I get to show you and the kids more than just the inside of Buy Mores. This is such a fantastic opportunity for them."

"Morgan convinced Buy More corporate to add a couple of days to each city for us to be able to do a little sightseeing."

Nodding, she said, "Good. I have contacts in most of those cities, too. I'll need to work them to see what I can find out about Benoit and your parents." She eyed him. "You're still okay with that, right?"

"Yes, of course." His hands on her foot slowed and he grew pensive. "It's just kind of weird and scary to think that we might actually find out what happened with my parents."

"Chuck, please don't get your hopes up. We might not find out anything." She didn't want to dash his hopes completely, but she also wanted him to be prepared if there was a less than stellar outcome.

"I know," he said, resignation edging into his voice. Rallying himself, his hands massaged her foot with renewed vigor. "But no matter what happens with that, we still get to go to Europe, right?"

She adored his ability to always find the bright side. "Right. And tomorrow, we start your training."

"What?" he cried. "Here I am, slaving away—I'm literally at your feet—and you have to go and mention that?"

"Oh, so you were hoping to distract me from starting your training tomorrow by rubbing my feet?"

"Would I do that? You wound me deeply, madam," he said, his voice brimming with drama. She didn't need to utter a word. Her arched eyebrow spoke volumes. Slyly cutting his eyes at her, he asked, "Did it work?"

"No," she drawled. She slowly pulled her feet from his lap and swung them around so that she was on her knees, sitting on them. Giving him a predatory look, she advanced on him. He shifted as she approached, so that he ended up with his back flat on the cushion. She crawled across and settled on top of him, his hands resting on her hips. Her face hovered inches above his, her hair tumbling down and framing her face. "I have to admit that it did give me _other_ ideas."

He gave her a languid smile. "Yeah? Well, as long as it wasn't a _complete_ waste." His gaze fell to her mouth.

"No, it wasn't a waste at all. I just don't want to," she softly brushed her lips across his, eliciting from him a low groan, "wear you out before our workout tomorrow."

He wove his fingers through her hair and his thumb lazily stroked her cheek. He gently pulled her close and they shared a long, slow, luxurious kiss. When he released her lips, he mumbled, "I'll take my chances."

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: A bit of scheduling news. I won't be posting next Thursday, June 7th. My husband and I will be at an undisclosed location celebrating our twentieth wedding anniversary. Barring any unforeseen problems, I plan on posting chapter 12 on June 14th.


	12. Endogenous Morphine

**A/N the first: **Thank you all so much for the anniversary greetings. I appreciate them, and you, so much. We had a wonderful time away. And thank you for the reviews, support and enthusiasm for this story. I always look forward to hearing from you.

As always, thank you to **AgentInWaiting** for his fantastic beta work.

**Chapter 12 – Endogenous Morphine**

It was a beautiful day to be outside and enjoying the warm spring sunlight now that the wildfire was out and the snow had melted. It was also a perfect day to start Chuck's training. Sarah had wanted to start his drills the morning after their return home, but circumstances conspired against that happening. It took a couple of days to get things back to normal and she didn't want to push at a time when they were all still recovering from the previous taxing days. Plus, the air quality needed to improve before they could run, and she needed to get her husband a decent pair of running shoes since all he owned were chucks.

Once the weekend had passed, and new shoes were purchased, they stopped at a nearby park to run after they dropped the kids off at school. Sarah made sure they stretched out before they began and she couldn't help but grin when she saw the appreciative looks he gave her as she bent, turned, twisted and stretched. When they were warmed up, they started off at a slow lope. Knowing how much he disliked jogging, she didn't want to make it completely miserable for him the first day. It wasn't long before she noticed his labored breathing, though.

"Whoever said running gives you a high was full of crap," he grumbled between pants of breath.

"Sometimes it only happens once you've pushed past the pain."

"Somehow, I don't think it'll be worth it."

"Keep at it for another ten minutes. If running doesn't release those endorphins, I promise to make sure they get released one way or another."

"Yeah? How can you guarantee that?"

"Sex."

He stumbled and had she not grabbed his arm to keep him from taking a tumble, the front of his body would have been one giant scab. They came to a stop so he could catch his breath. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees. Wheezing, he asked, "Why are you trying to kill me?" He glanced up and frowned at two young men staring at Sarah as they jogged by.

She bounced on her toes in front of him. "I'm not trying to kill you. I'm trying to motivate you. I thought the promise of sex with me later would inspire you to keep going."

Apparently her voice carried more than she thought it would. The two men who had been gawking at her toppled over each other and crashed to the ground in a heap. Heat rose in her cheeks.

Chuck stood and put his hands on his hips. "Does this happen every time you go running?"

"What?"

"Guys ogling you," he said. They both turned to watch the fallen men untangle themselves and get to their feet. One of them paused, licked his lips, and said, "Hey gorgeous, if he doesn't want to be inspired then—"

Sarah raised her left hand and flashed her ring. "Married," she declared flatly while still bouncing on her toes. "Move along."

Her pronouncement caused the two men to run off as fast as they could. Turning back to her husband, she saw he was studying her very intently. "Chuck?" When no response was forthcoming she tried again, "Honey, are you all right?"

Chuck shook himself. "Sorry, your… bounciness is kind of distracting. You do realize you leave behind a wake of men crashing to the ground when they trip over their own feet, collide headlong into trees, or take headers over benches, all because they can't keep their eyes off of you?" He seemed quite amused by it all when he asked, "And how often do you get propositioned?"

She stopped her bouncing and stood flatfooted in front of him. She was aware of her effect on men. It was one of the things that made her a good spy. She knew how to use her appeal to get men to talk, to inform, to acquiesce. Shrugging, she answered, "I can't help what people around me do. When I'm out jogging, I'm out to get some exercise, not to get men to stare or talk to me. And even if they do, it doesn't mean anything. Hopelessly in love with you, remember?" She stepped closer, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Then she pulled at his hand to get him running again.

"Don't worry," he said, panting and grinning. "I remember. How could I forget?"

Tamping out a rhythm, they ran silently past a set of playground equipment. After another couple hundred yards, he gasped out, "What if—and by me asking this I'm not saying that it would happen in this universe—but what if women openly stared at me like men stare at you?"

She answered immediately. "For 'women' in general, I'd be proud that I have such a hot husband." He lurched again but this time managed to keep his balance. She gave him a quick sidelong glance. "And don't assume women don't look at you. They do." His face registered surprise and disbelief. "You may not believe me, but they do. Trust me. I've noticed."

They circled around a copse of trees and headed back the way they came. As they passed the playground again, Sarah noticed a contented smile on the face of a woman who sat on a bench, holding an infant on her lap while watching her older toddler go down the slide. Something in her stirred that she couldn't quite identify. Shaking off the strange feeling, she kept their pace steady. "As for the specific woman who gives you too much attention, I'd break her arm."

Her husband's response to that was a hearty guffaw. She smirked and continued, "You laugh. I'm not kidding."

He grinned. "Oh, I know you're not kidding. You are a wonderful, beautiful and frightening woman, Sarah Bartowski," he said, between breaths.

Laughing, she added, "And you're hopelessly in love with me."

"And I'm hopelessly in love with you."

She slowed their pace and dropped it to a walk.

"Why are we walking?" he asked, taking in one deep lungful of air after another.

Shaking out the muscles in her legs as they walked, she replied, "Because we finished our run."

He looked surprised. "We did?"

She took the water bottle from the carrier around her waist and handed it to him. "Mm-hmm. You survived. I'm proud of you."

"I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," he said, taking off the cap and drinking half the bottle before handing it back to her.

She chuckled. "You just needed something to keep your mind occupied." She drained the rest of the water.

"I guess so."

"Did those endorphins ever kick in?" she asked.

He gave her a thoughtful look. "No."

Tossing the empty bottle into a recycling bin they passed, she smirked, "I had the feeling that would be your answer."

He goggled at her. "Think about it. Why would I say yes, given the _motivation_ you gave me earlier?"

She grabbed his hand and sighed heavily as they approached the van. "I guess I'll have to follow through with my promise." She found herself sandwiched between his body and the side of the van. He gave her a leisurely kiss. "A promise is a promise," he answered.

~ O ~

Sarah Walker, agent of the CIA, was an excellent traveler. She had been all over the world and used nearly every type of transportation imaginable—including camels—and once, even an elephant. Sarah Bartowski, parent of seven children, now sat in her living room with feet resting on the edge of the coffee table and a yellow legal pad propped up on her thighs writing down every task she could think of that needed to be completed before their trip to Europe. Being the one in the family with extensive travel experience, it was primarily up to her to think though the logistics and make sure they had everything in place.

At the top of the list was obtaining passports for Chuck and the kids and securing any needed visas. Processing the passports would take some time, so that was the first project they needed to tackle. The idea of simply calling the CIA and having someone there take care of it crossed her mind, but she thought better of it. She didn't want to put their trip on anyone's radar, so she decided they would go through regular channels.

The first thing she knew they needed to do was to have Chuck and the kids have passport photos taken. She was thinking about where to get them done when her husband came in and groaned as he gingerly sank down to the couch next to her.

"My poor baby. Still a little sore?" she asked with a grin.

"I was okay once the endorphins kicked in," he said bouncing an eyebrow knowingly at her, which she returned with a knowing smirk. "But that was yesterday. So, yes, now I'm a little achy. What I want to know is how does jogging make your spleen sore?"

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I think we need to get those endorphins flooding your system again," she whispered in his ear.

"I think I can live with that," came his immediate reply.

"I have something planned for you… later," she said mysteriously. "Right now I'm making a list of things we need to do to get ready for our trip."

He nodded absently and said, "I just read that they figured out the cause of the Widow's Gulch fire. It wasn't due to natural causes."

Her head snapped toward him and she sat up, ramrod straight. "What did they say it was?"

"There were a couple of guys who had been camping and didn't make sure their fire was completely out before they left the area. The authorities said they didn't find any accelerants or anything to make them think it was arson, so they've ruled that out and are calling it accidental." He paused and then asked, "What do you think?"

She still had her suspicions, but since there was no direct evidence that Fulcrum had anything to do with the fire, she told him just that. Relaxing against the back of the couch again, she said, "We'll just keep our eyes open, as usual." She glanced over his shoulder and saw Megan wander into the living room. She flopped into of the chairs across the coffee table from them, sighed heavily and gave her uncle and aunt a helpless look. "I'm bored," she announced.

Sarah pressed her lips together and Chuck's snort turned into a cough. "Nothing to do, huh? Your homework's done already?" Sarah asked.

Megan nodded slowly, walking her fingers across the armrest. "I wrote as many words as I could think of that rhyme with 'sat.' I came up with a bunch." Her big blue eyes stared at them. "Kindergarten's pretty easy."

"I'm sure you'll find first grade much more challenging," Chuck said, his voice heavy with the appropriate amount of solemnity. His eyes, however, danced with mirth.

"I sure hope so," Megan replied pensively.

It was only through a great effort that Sarah didn't burst out laughing. Instead, she kept a straight face and said, "I have an idea. We have a couple of hours before we have to go get your brothers and sisters from school. Why don't we work with Uncle Chuck on some basic self-defense?"

At that, Megan perked up and bounced out of the chair. "I can help you learn, Uncle Chuck. I'm good at self-defense stuff."

His eyes widened. "Oh, I know you are. You're not going to flip me, are you?"

She looked at him gravely. "Only if Aunt Sarah says it's okay."

"We'll see. Run upstairs and get changed. Uncle Chuck and I will go get changed, too."

Megan took off like a shot and scampered up the stairs. Sarah stood and put out her hand offering to help him up off the couch. Taking it, he said as she hauled him to his feet, "Every muscle in my body aches and you're going to have my six-year-old throw me to the floor." He stared at her. "You, my good woman, are a sadist."

She kept his hand in hers as they walked toward the stairs. "Best thing to do when you're sore is to get up and move around. It loosens up the muscles." She raised an eyebrow. "Admit it," she said as they took each step up the stairs slowly, "fear made those endorphins flow again, didn't they?"

"Are you saying fear of bodily harm is what you had planned for me to 'get my endorphins going' again?" he complained with a teasing tone. "Because if it is, I have to admit I'm pretty disappointed. The other way is _much_ better."

They reached the top of the stairs and turned toward their bedroom. "You like jogging better," she said. "Got it." She squealed as he chased her down the hall.

~ O ~

Sarah wanted to train Chuck, of course, but she was always training Megan as well and today was no exception. From everything Chuck had told her about Ellie and Devon, she already recognized the natural athleticism Megan had inherited from her father and the quick mind of her mother. Wanting to challenge them both, Sarah gave Chuck a warning before they entered the basement to stand tall against his niece and not bend forward toward her at all. Once someone did so, that person ended up on his or her back in a blink of an eye, no matter how large they were.

Megan scampered down the basement stairs and ran across the mats to stand directly in front of Sarah who sat on her stool. She handed Sarah a brush and an elastic hair tie and then spun around. As Sarah ran a brush through the little girl's hair, Megan eyed Chuck's t-shirt and sweatpants. "How come you don't have a uniform like mine?" she asked him.

He looked over at Sarah. "Yeah! Why don't I?"

Gathering Megan's hair together at the back of her head with one hand, she deftly pulled the long blonde hair through the rubber band and twisted the hair tie. As she secured the hair into a thick ponytail, her eyes danced merrily at her husband as she replied, "Don't worry. I ordered a uniform for you. It'll just take a little longer since pink in your size was on backorder."

"Pink!" Megan blurted. A hand flew over her mouth in surprise. "Pink is for girls!" she laughed.

Chuck looked affronted. "Pink is _not_ just for girls. I think I'll look great in a pink martial arts uniform. Like a big marshmallow peep."

That got both girls laughing. Sarah tossed the brush on the floor and addressed them, her eyes twinkling. "Are you two ready?"

Megan nodded and moved to stand right in front of Chuck. "Do I get to flip him?" she asked, clearly sizing up her foe.

"Mm-hmm, if you can. He's a lot bigger than you, though," Sarah warned.

Chuck stood tall and stared down at their littlest niece. "You can try, but you'll fail," he taunted her with mock menace. "Your dark arts have no sway over me." Sarah saw something flash in Megan's eyes.

_Oh boy. That was the wrong thing to say._ "Now you're just waving a red cape in front of her."

Chuck's eyes never left Megan's when he answered, "I'm not afraid."

She snickered quietly to herself. _You should be._

Megan stood in front of Chuck and looked up at him. Curling a finger beckoning him to lower himself toward her, she said, "Uncle Chuck, I have a secret I want to tell you."

He started to bend toward her and then snapped back up. "Ha! You're trying to trick me. Well, it didn't work."

Sarah could see Megan thinking. The little girl scratched her head and said, "You're right, I was."

Chuck began his boast. "My superior brain and size—"

Megan's movement was like a lightning strike. She zipped around behind him and kicked her foot against the back of one of his knees, causing it to buckle. Once he started to lose his balance, she reached up as high as she could, grabbed the back of his shirt with both hands and pulled. The air rushed out of his lungs with a grunt when his back hit the mat.

Megan placed a bare foot on his chest in triumph. "You were saying?" Sarah asked drily.

"I am in awe of your mad ninja skills, Miss Megan. Please don't hurt me," Chuck said humbly.

Grinning, she removed her foot. "I won't hurt you, Uncle Chuck. I want to be like Aunt Sarah and not hurt people."

Megan's words made Sarah suck in a sharp intake of air. From the floor, Chuck turned his head, gave her a meaningful glance and then a wink. Clearing her throat, she stood from the stool and offered a hand to Chuck. Pulling him to his feet, she said to Megan, "Good thinking. You remembered the move I taught you last week." Megan smiled at the compliment.

"Now that Uncle Chuck understands that his size won't keep him safe, shall we start at the beginning?" Sarah asked them both. Both heads nodded in the affirmative. "Since there's such a big size difference between the two of you, I'll work with you. Megan, you can sit on my stool and tell us what we should do."

Jumping up and down, Megan clapped happily and then scrambled up on the stool while Sarah and Chuck stood facing each other. "Okay, Aunt Sarah, you need to show Uncle Chuck how to do the shoulder flip."

"You mean like this?" Sarah asked as she, in one smooth movement, flipped an unsuspecting Chuck over her shoulder and onto his back. He made the same grunt as he had a few moments before. "My wife _is_ trying to kill me," he groaned.

Once again, Sarah helped him up as Megan heaved a patient sigh. "Uncle Chuck, I _told_ you what she was going to do. You need to always be prepared. Okay, Aunt Sarah, let's go slow and show him what you did."

Sarah followed Megan's directions and demonstrated how to do the shoulder flip, only needing to add a few details here and there along the way. Overall, Megan did an admirable job and before long Chuck had successfully flipped Sarah onto the mat several times.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Sarah said, "Sweetie, I think we're about done for the day." Chuck's "Thank God" was drowned out by Megan's "Aawww!" She gave her husband an amused look. "I was talking to our niece. Sweetie, why don't you run upstairs and get ready to go with us to get your brothers and sisters from school. We'll be up in a couple of minutes."

"Okay," Megan said as she slid off the stool and zoomed out of the room and up the stairs.

Chuck eyed Sarah questioningly, but stayed silent. "I want to show you one more thing," she purred. His gaze followed her warily as she slowly moved behind him. "Next time we work out, I'm going to teach you how to get out of a bear-hug like this one." She reached her arms around him and gripped her hand around her fist. Tightening the hug, her body pushed into his back as his arms were helplessly pinned to his sides. He merely stood there. "You're not struggling to get away," she observed.

"Your front pressed up against my back is not an uncomfortable position for me to be in. Why would I try to do something stupid like—ahhhhh!" he groaned and shivered when she stood on her tiptoes and blew gently in his ear. He immediately started struggling to get out of her grip as what she had just done clearly drove him crazy. Enjoying herself immensely, she blew in his ear again, eliciting from him another guttural moan. Taking pity on him, she released her grip and he instantly spin around, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately. His fervor made her weak kneed and she nearly went limp in his embrace. Once again, she found herself on her back on the mat, only this time Chuck had used his own special brand of ninja skills to accomplish the feat. Not that she minded, particularly when she wasn't on the mat alone. _We all have our skill sets_.

~ O ~

On the way home from school, Lizzie, Lisa and Bridget chatted excitedly about the upcoming prom while the boys stared dully out the windows. It was now only a couple of weeks away and final arrangements were being made. Lizzie informed them that Brock had hired a limousine to drive them. Sarah glanced over her shoulder and noted the contrasts; the girls' faces were as animated as the boys' were nearly comatose. _Sorry, boys, it really can't be helped_.

Chuck frowned at the tidbit of information about the limo. "I'm not sure I'm very excited about the two of you alone in a limo," he said, looking at Lizzie in the van's rear view mirror.

"It's not just us. We're going with my friend Monica and her date, Roy."

Fred snapped out of his lethargy long enough to snark, "Is she the one that never met a donut she didn't like?"

"Shut it, Fred," Lizzie snapped.

Sarah turned and shot him a disapproving look.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"What's the theme for the prom?" Sarah asked.

"It was going to be 'Disco Inferno,' but after the fire, they changed it at the last minute to 'Arabian Nights.'"

"You mean like Jasmine?" Martie asked. "I don't think your dress looks very much like that."

"It's mostly for the decorations," Lizzie explained. "The girls wear dresses and the guys wear either tuxedoes or nice suits." Her eyes were full of excitement when she added, "Brock's going to wear a tuxedo."

"I'm sure he'll look very handsome," Sarah replied before she turned back toward the front of the van.

"Hey, Aunt Sarah!" Curtis called out. "Did you go to your prom when you were in high school?"

Chuck's head snapped toward her when she flinched. "You don't have to answer," he said quietly.

Huffing a breath, she said, "No, it's okay." She turned around in her seat and faced the kids again. "No, I didn't go to either my junior or senior prom. I was never asked." The van fell into a stunned silence as they all gaped at her.

"The guys at your high school must have been blind idiots," Fred said indignantly, breaking the quiet.

An unbidden smile reached her eyes. "Thank you, Fred. That's very sweet of you to say, but I have to confess, I was a late bloomer. Braces, bad clothes, bad hair…" She shuddered. "It was just bad."

"What about you, Uncle Chuck? Did you go?" Bridget asked.

Chuck raised his eyes to the rear view mirror again and said, "No, I didn't go either."

Surprised, Sarah asked, "Really?"

Shaking his head, he answered, "That wasn't high on the priority list. My junior year, Lizzie was a toddler and Fred was a newborn. My senior year, Ellie was in her first trimester with Lisa and tired all the time. Devon was in medical school so he was gone a lot. They needed my help…" He shrugged. "Like I said, it wasn't a high priority."

"We're just a couple of prom misfits, I guess," she chuckled.

"Hey! Maybe we can go to prom after all. They might still need chaperones—"

"No!" Lizzie shouted from the back. She apparently heard the slight panic in her voice because she moderated her tone and said, "I mean, no, they don't need any more. I heard they already had enough chaperones. And I think it's only teachers and administrators who do it."

Sarah pursed her lips and Chuck winked at her. "I guess we won't be able to fulfill our lifelong dreams of going to the prom," he said sadly as the van entered the garage.

"I think I'll survive," she deadpanned.

The kids piled out of the van and into the house where they all headed straight to the kitchen for a snack. Sarah strolled out the front door to get the day's mail. It was usually nothing more than bills and junk mail, but today, surprisingly, there was a rectangular box covered with brown postal paper wedged in the mailbox. Sarah glanced at it and immediately recognized Carina's large, looping handwriting. She assumed it was for her and then did a double take when she realized it was addressed to Martie and Megan. Checking the postmark, she saw it was from DC. Apparently, Carina hadn't been sent out on her next mission yet.

Once back inside the house, she went straight to the kitchen and set the box on the table in front of the two girls, who were sitting next to each other and dipping graham crackers in their glasses of milk. "You two got something from Aunt Carina."

Both sets of eyes grew wide. "Oh, Aunt Sarah," Martie breathed. "A brown paper package covered with tape is one of my favorite things!"

Lisa glanced over and said, "Oh good, it came." She took out her phone, typed and sent a quick text.

"What was that about?" Chuck asked.

Picking up her container of yogurt, Lisa stirred it with her spoon. "Aunt Carina texted me a few days ago and said she was sending something to these two," she said, tipping her head toward her little sisters. "She asked me to let her know as soon as the package came." She popped a spoonful of yogurt in her mouth.

_Interesting_. Slipping a graham cracker from the brown waxy paper package, Sarah probed, "How often do you hear from Carina?"

Lifting a shoulder, Lisa replied, "I dunno. Every couple of days I guess. Not real often. She said once she goes on the mission she's getting ready for, I won't hear from her for a while."

Sarah took a bite of her cracker and nodded. "That's what an agent has to do when she goes undercover. Her personal life has to be hidden away. It protects everyone."

"Is that what you did when you came here?" Bridget asked.

Sarah gave her a rueful smile. "As much as I needed to. I didn't have much of a personal life back then."

Megan picked the box up off the table and shook it next to her ear. "Can we open it now?"

"Yes, you've been very patient." Sarah removed the glasses of milk from the table and set them on the counter, safely away from being knocked over.

Megan turned the box over and over in her hands. "It has a lot of tape on it. I can't find a place to start ripping off the brown paper."

"Here, let me help you with that," Sarah said, reaching down to her ankle holster and slipping a throwing knife from it. In one smooth motion, she sliced through the packing tape at one of the seams and returned the knife from where it came.

"Whoa," Fred whispered with awe. "That is just _so_ cool." She smiled, slightly embarrassed, at him.

A grinning Chuck, leaning a shoulder against the doorway, said, "It never gets old, does it?" He snagged a Fig Newton from the package on the table and came to stand next to his wife. "What's up?" he asked as they watched Megan tear the paper from the package.

"Carina sent Martie and Megan something in the mail."

"Is it ticking?"

Smirking, she bumped him with her shoulder. The brown paper was quickly removed and tossed haphazardly across the table revealing that the present was wrapped in boldly colored wrapping paper with a note taped to the front.

Megan tore off the note, opened it up and looked at it. Scowling, she quickly passed it off to Bridget next to her. Bridget read the note aloud as Megan and Martie both clawed at the paper.

"Dear Martie and Megan,

"I remember when I met you, Megan, you told Martie you were going to need to get another Barbie. I think you meant that blonde Spy Barbie needed a redheaded partner. I saw this and knew she needed to be part of the spy team. I hope Barbie and Dani will go on lots of fun adventures together.

"Love, Aunt Carina.

"P.S. – Just don't let her come between Barbie and Joe. He belongs to her. Haha."

Both girls' faces were full of wonder when they looked at the doll sealed inside the plastic packaging.

Fred glanced over at the box with mild interest. His double-take made him nearly fall out of his chair. "Wow!" he exclaimed under his breath.

"Turn it around so we can see it," Sarah said. Megan, still stunned to silence, turned the box around for Sarah and Chuck to see. There, in all her glory, was a Barbie with long red hair and gold hoop earrings.

"Oh boy," Chuck said, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

The doll was wearing lingerie. The silver satin nightie was trimmed with black lace at the top and bottom and stopped high on the thigh. It was the black fishnet stockings that ran all the way up the doll's legs and stopped just below the hem of the nightie, providing a gap of uncovered "skin", that made Sarah groan and shake her head. _Only Carina would send a six-year-old and a seven-year-old Inappropriate Barbie._

"Why would she wear black high heels if she's in her pajamas?" Megan wanted to know. Five chairs scraped across the floor when the older kids jumped up and fled the kitchen.

"Cowards!" Chuck called after them as they sprinted from the room.

Martie nodded slowly, her face clouded with confusion. "You'd think she'd be wearing slippers." She sat up straight and her face brightened. "Or socks!"

Sarah dug her teeth into her lower lip and blinked several times in an attempt to stop the laughter that wanted to erupt. Leaning across the table, she gently lifted the box from Megan's grip. Completely ignoring the questions posited by Megan and Martie's accompanying comments, Sarah said, "You know, this doll's not wearing the right kind of clothes for a mission."

Chuck stepped up next to her and whispered in her ear, "Well, she is if she's really _undercover_." He chuckled despite her elbow jabbing him in the stomach.

"Why don't you two run upstairs and find some good spy clothes from Barbie's stash for this doll while we get her out of the box?" Her experience at Christmas taught her that one needed protective hand and eyewear when extracting a Barbie from her packaging. The little ones yelled out, "Okay!" clambered down from their chairs and raced out.

When it was just the two of them left, Sarah finally let out a laugh. "I think we successfully dodged a bullet there." She reached down to her holster and retrieved the knife she had used a moment before.

"Ready to perform the Barbie-ectomy, I see," Chuck quipped. Looking at the doll, he said, "I wonder why Carina called her 'Dani?' I don't see a name on the front of the box."

Turning the box over, she examined it top and bottom. "Here," she said, showing him part of a price sticker. The price had been scraped off, but the top half read, "Dani's Dollhouse."

"Ah. Dani it is, then," he said.

Since the box had been easier to open than the ones at Christmas, she only needed to use the knife to slit the plastic ties that fastened the doll to the cardboard backing. While she worked, Chuck slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "I have to admit," he said slowly, "that I kind of wish there was a Sarah Bartowski sized version of Dani's outfit."

When he nuzzled her neck, she gently set her knife down on the counter. It wasn't good to be wielding a knife when her husband was so… distracting. The fingers that had gripped the knife seconds before were now stroking his hair. Just as she tipped her head to give him better access to her neck, Mrs. Smith bustled into the kitchen loaded down with four bags of groceries. Completely ignoring the couple in the middle of the kitchen, she set the bags on the counter and went about putting the food away.

"Hi, Mrs. Smith," Sarah said dreamily.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. B. You're having a good day I see."

"Mm-hmmm. We'll get out of your way," Sarah murmured distractedly.

"Just ignore me," the other woman sang as she bustled around them.

Chuck raised his head languorously and blinked slowly at their cook. "Oh, hi."

Mrs. Smith snickered and shook her head in amusement. "Hi, Mr. B. Sorry to interrupt, but I assume your kids want to eat tonight."

Chuck roused from his stupor and replied, "Yeah, I'm sure they will. We'll take this upstairs."

Mrs. Smith stopped in her tracks and stared at him slack jawed.

His eyes popped open and he paled slightly. "What? Oh no! No, no, no! That's not what I meant," he babbled. "I meant that we'll take this up to the girls' room," he said, picking up and showing her the box that held the still partially extricated doll.

Sarah snuck the knife off the counter with one hand and took her husband's hand with the other. Leading him away she said, "Let me get you out of here before Mrs. Smith files a report against us." The other woman's laughter trailed behind them as they climbed the stairs.

~ O ~

The darkness was overcome by the soft, glowing light radiating from the candles placed around their bedroom. The second movement of Bach's _Orchestral Suite No. 3,_ more popularly known as_ Air on the G String_—the name of which made Chuck giggle the first time Sarah told him the title of the piece—played softly in the background. She was pretty proud of the playlist she had constructed and was enjoying the soothing music as the notes drifted around them.

The aroma of eucalyptus from the massage oil wafted up, opening up her breathing passages. It wasn't the most romantic scent—she would have preferred lavender at this point in the evening—but she knew eucalyptus oil would best help heal Chuck's sore body. It was the least she could do, considering the "abuse" she had put him through the last couple of days.

Chuck, laying prostrate on the bed, hummed with pleasure as she pressed the heels of her hands into the small of his back and slowly slid them up the muscles on either side of his spine. She started off gently, gradually adding more pressure each time she repeated the action.

With his head turned to one side, he murmured, "If this is the reward I get for letting you and or Megan flip me, you have my permission to do it anytime, anywhere."

Shifting a bit, she straddled him over his lower back so she could better reach his shoulders. Smiling, she replied in a soft voice, "I'll remember that." She had rolled up the sleeves on the white dress shirt of his she wore hoping to keep oil off the cuffs. Now the bottom of the shirt rested on his oil covered skin. "I think I'm getting oil on your shirt."

He opened an eye, gave her a quick glance and closed it again. "Don't care. It looks better on you anyway." After releasing a contented sigh as she kneaded his shoulder, he said lazily, "Tell you what. It can be designated to be your 'give-Chuck-a-massage' shirt. You're welcome to wear it and give me a massage every night."

"Ah, that's very generous of you," she said, her smile growing wider.

"What can I say? I'm a giver." He was quiet for a moment and then said, "Someday, that shirt will end up in the Shirt Hall of Fame."

"There's a Shirt Hall of Fame?"

"Mm-hmm. Full of famous historical shirts."

Dribbling more oil onto his upper back, she chuckled and said, "I was unaware that there was such a place."

"Oh yeah, but only the coolest people know about it. Your shirt will be displayed between the paint splattered shirt Michelangelo wore when he painted the Sistine Chapel and the ink smudged one Shakespeare wore when he wrote _Romeo and Juliet_."

"Wow, it'll be in some pretty serious company."

"You wearing it makes it a work of art."

Her heart melted. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek. "I think that's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," she whispered. His only response was a pleased smile.

Sitting up again, she started working his left bicep. The largo movement from Vivaldi's "Winter" from _The Four Seasons_ played as Sarah wondered if now was the right time to bring up something she wanted to discuss with him. Without realizing it, she heaved a deep sigh.

"Sarah, you can stop the massage any time you need to," Chuck said with concern. "That was a pretty heavy sigh."

"No, sweetie, it's not that," she said, moving her hands to his other arm. "I started doing some research today on all the documents we'll need to get together when we go apply for the kids' passports."

"I assume we'll need their birth certificates. Those are in the safe deposit box at the bank. What else do we need?"

"There needs to be proof of parentage," she said quietly. "We might need to bring Ellie and Devon's…" she swallowed hard, "death certificates." She could feel him tense for a split second. "We need a document to prove you're the kids' parent."

"I have the Final Decree of Adoption in the office. I think that should work." When she remained silent, he lifted his head from the mattress and turned to look into her face. "There's something else."

She nodded once. Her hands moved away from his arm and dropped limply onto his back. "It's just that, as I was doing this research, I realized something." She took a deep breath and said quietly, "I realized I'm nothing to the kids."

"What do you mean?" he asked in disbelief. "Of course you're something to them. They absolutely love you. You're like a mother to them."

When he turned over to sit up, she slid off him and sat cross-legged on the mattress. "I know that. What I mean is legally I have no standing with them. I'm not their mother. I'm not their legal guardian. I'm not their adoptive parent like you are."

He gazed at her, waiting. She took his hand and absently fingered the ring on his finger. She needed to touch him, to have a connection with him because she _really_ didn't want to talk about this. It was one of those things no one ever wanted to talk about. "What if, God forbid, something happened to you?" she asked quietly. "What would happen to the kids? I'd want them to stay with me. What if someone came along and tried to take them away?" She drew in a breath and blew it out slowly. "It got me thinking. What if we looked into the possibility of me legally adopting them?"

His tone was gentle when he asked, "Are you sure? That's a big step."

Nodding she answered, "They're _my_ kids, you know? It felt like that even _before_ we got married."

The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. "I know."

"I can't bear the thought of not being a part of their lives. Every day." She stared at the gold ring she continued to touch. "I want to be the one in the graduation pictures." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I want to be 'mother' of the bride someday…" her eyes rose to meet his and she smiled shyly, "a bunch of times."

"Not too soon, I hope," he said with a small smile.

She felt a flutter of nervousness. "Do you think the kids will be okay with it? I hope they won't think I'm trying to replace Ellie."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Remember how they were going to disown me if I didn't marry you? And how they gave you Ellie's charm bracelet?"

She glanced at the chain laying on her nightstand and sighed. "You're right. I still think we should talk to them about it, though."

"Let's call my lawyer first and see what it would take to get it done. Then, when we have a better idea of what needs to happen and how long it would take, we can talk to them."

"Okay," she agreed.

He reached out and brushed at a strand of hair on her forehead. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured to—"

"I'm sure."

His gaze studied her. "Okay."

It was like a weight had been lifted. Scooting closer, she asked, "Are your muscles still a little sore?"

"Well, actually, your massage did wonders. I hardly…" His voice trailed off when she eyed him lasciviously. Catching her meaning, he said in a husky voice, "Now that you mention it, I think I _am_ still a little tender here and there."

She shifted closer and raised an eyebrow. "I thought so. You know, I'm a little achy from our workout, too. I think it would benefit both of us if we, ah…"

"…release some endorphins?" he finished. Gripping a handful of her shirt, he drew her to him and gave her a kiss that left her breathless. Smiling lazily at her, he mumbled against her lips, "We have the best training routine ever."

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: Here's a link if you would like to see Inappropriate Barbie:

www . amazon . com (slash) Barbie-Silkstone-Lingerie-Fashion-Redhead/dp/tags-on-product/B0006VSTCY

I know!


	13. Bang, Bang, Shoot, Shoot

**A/N: **Recovered from the fluff that was chapter 12 yet? Good! I don't want to be responsible for putting anyone into a diabetic coma.

Thank you to **AgentInWaiting** who continues to do wonderful and amazing beta work on this and every chapter. It's quite a chore for him to wade through the fluff (insert eye roll here) but he soldiers on and I thank him for it.

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, comments, tweets, PMs, etc. I really do appreciate them and I'm glad to know you're enjoying the story.

**Chapter 13 – Bang, Bang, Shoot, Shoot**

"Barbie walked by the pool with Dani, Barbie's partner for this mission," Megan narrated as she walked the two dolls past the Barbie-sized swimming pool. Dani had been changed out of her lingerie and was now dressed in a slightly more appropriate black tank top dress. Barbie wore a midnight blue halter dress.

"I'm glad to see Barbie and Dani out on a mission together," Sarah said from the doorway of the girls' room. She had been watching Martie and Megan play Spy Barbie for a couple of minutes before she spoke up. Deciding to join in, she came and sat with them on the floor.

"Mm-hmm," Megan said. "Barbie and Dani are at a fancy pool party."

"Wow, that sounds like fun," Sarah said.

Martie nodded. "It is. Only they're there on a mission to take something from a bad man's house." The little girl pointed at Barbie's 3-Story Dream Townhouse.

"What do they have to take?" Sarah asked. She noticed a purple plastic ring sitting atop a table in one of the downstairs rooms. "Isn't that ring from your _Pretty, Pretty Princess_ game?"

"Yeah, it's the diamond that Dani and Barbie are supposed to take," Megan answered.

"Who's the bad guy they're supposed to steal it from?" Sarah asked. She had a vague, uneasy feeling about this particular story.

Martie pointed to Chewbacca sitting in a lounge chair next to the pool. "Him."

"Chewbacca?" she said with confusion. "I thought he was a good guy."

"He usually is, but this time he had to be bad," Megan explained patiently.

"Why?"

Megan rolled her eyes. "Aunt Sarah!" she sighed with exasperation. "You know this story. Aunt Carina told it to us when she was staying here. It's one of the missions you went on with her."

Surprised, Sarah answered, "It is?" Her brain went into overdrive, flashing through the different missions she had been on with Carina. _Uh oh. I hope it's not the one when we had to mud wrest…_ It hit her like a ton of bricks. "Wait. A diamond?"

Both little girls nodded. _Whew!_ She was pretty sure she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask, but she asked it anyway. "Why are you using Chewie as the bad guy?"

"Aunt Carina said the bad guy was really hairy, like a Wookie..." Megan stopped and shrugged, the connection obvious.

Reflecting on it now, it made perfect sense. _I didn't know what a Wookie was then, but if I had.._. "I have another question," Sarah said, now enjoying herself immensely. "Did Aunt Carina tell you the name of the guy she said looked like a Wookie?"

"Mm-hmm," Martie said, picking up Chewbacca and making his arm move up and down. "She called him Peyton Hawaii."

"Close," she said, smiling. "His name was Peyman Alahi. And Aunt Carina's right. He was really hairy." She leaned forward as if to tell them a secret. "He kind of looked like he was wearing a fur sweater when he wasn't even _wearing_ a shirt." The girls giggled. "He also had a gold gun."

"Wow," Megan exhaled.

"Where's Joe on this mission?" Sarah asked, scanning the scene.

"He had to stay home," Martie advised her.

"Really? Why?"

"Because Joe and Barbie were out on a mission together and he went off by himself, even after Barbie told him not to. And then he got captured. So Barbie had to save him." Megan blew out an aggravated breath. "Again."

Sarah nodded, and gave the girls a knowing look.

"So she didn't let him along this time to make sure he understands he can't go off by himself in the middle of a mission. Never leave your partner during a mission," Megan stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

_She's certainly learning_. "You're right. Never leave your partner." Spying Joe off to the side amongst a jumble of Barbie paraphernalia, she asked, "What's he doing?"

"Barbie's making Joe clean out the garage," Martie declared.

"Ha!" Sarah couldn't stop the laugh that slipped out. "I'm sure that will teach him a lesson." The girls nodded somberly. "I hope Barbie will forgive Joe."

"Oh, she will," Megan stated. "She might be mad at him, but she still loves him." Martie nodded in agreement.

"You two are very wise little girls," Sarah said, her heart overflowing with pride.

Nodding as if they already knew that, Megan asked, "Will you stay and play with us for a while?"

"Sure, we can play until Uncle Casey comes over for dinner. He came back today."

"Yay!" Martie shouted and clapped her hands. "He's been gone forever!"

Sarah smiled at her. "I'm not sure if it's exactly forever. It's only been about three weeks."

"It just seems like forever," Martie clarified. "Is he back to stay for good?"

"I don't know about 'for good' but he's going on our trip with us, so he won't go on any other missions before then. We need to start practicing for the tournaments."

"Will they let us be spotters?" Martie wanted to know.

"I don't know, sweetie," Sarah replied with a shrug. "Even if they don't, you both are still very important members of our team. You can help Uncle Morgan, too."

"Uncle Morgan's going?" Megan asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Mm-hmm. It only makes sense that he comes with us since it was his idea in the first place. He'll be the Buy More representative who coordinates with the stores in each city."

"Kinda like when he was in charge of the wedding?" Megan wondered.

"Now that you mention it, yes, kind of like that."

Martie sat up straight. "Maybe he'll carry his clipboard around again."

Sarah reached out and tapped her finger once on the end of Martie's nose. "I bet he will. He did love that clipboard." She paused and thought back on the day she and Chuck were married. Morgan had performed his duties in an exemplary fashion and the wedding had gone off without a hitch. Hopefully he would be as efficient in coordinating this trip. She welcomed any help with the logistics she and Chuck could get, since in addition to traveling with seven kids across Europe, she had "spy business" to accomplish.

Noticing her nieces were ready to get on with the mission, Sarah brought herself back to the present and said, "So, girls, how are Barbie and Dani going to steal the diamond?"

~ O ~

Chuck didn't like guns. They scared him. He could still remember some of the horrific gunshot wound stories Devon had told him during his rotations in the emergency room. But despite his aversion to guns, the woman he had married was rarely without one. That never really bothered him though, as her gun was simply part of who she was. Her weapon had saved his life. And yet he never had any desire to touch or use her gun. He was more than happy to let her handle the physical protection of their family. If he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that he found her to be more than a little sexy whenever he saw her with it.

Inasmuch as he had a healthy respect for the damage firearms could inflict to the human body along with the fact that he really, really didn't want to hurt anyone, he also trusted Sarah. If she thought he needed to know how to use a gun, then so be it. He would learn, even if he hated the idea of him ever having to actually shoot someone. He had the feeling that Casey wouldn't exactly be Mr. Rogers when it came to teaching styles, but he figured he had been around the major long enough that he was pretty well prepared for whatever barbs might come his way.

It had been decided the night before when Casey was at the Bartowski home for dinner that Chuck would begin his training in using a gun the next morning. So, at exactly 0900 hours, Casey barreled through the front door carrying a bag loaded with enough munitions to outfit a paramilitary group. He stalked into the living room and dropped the bag on a chair with a clank. "You ready for this, Bartowski?"

Chuck closed his laptop and eyed the bag warily. "I thought I was supposed to be learning how to safely use a handgun. Sarah said I wouldn't have to be Rambo. Why do you have enough firepower to quell a revolution?"

Casey glared at him and said, "Rambo was a great American. And yeah, you'll be cutting your teeth on a pistol. But learning how to handle the big stuff can't be a bad thing."

"We'll see," Sarah said, sipping her coffee as she came into the living room from the kitchen.

"Look, Walker, _you_ asked _me_ to train him on firearms. I hope you aren't going to hover over your boy toy here like some helicopter mom. Let me do this my way."

"Really inappropriate mixture of metaphors there, Casey," Chuck said.

His wife held up a hand in surrender. "Fine. I'll just observe," she said, deferring to her partner. Settling herself down in a chair, she winked at Chuck. Gazing up at Casey, she said, "I'm not here."

"If you're not here, why are you still here?" he questioned, scowling. "Don't trust me with your precious hubby?"

"Sitting right here," Chuck spoke up, slightly annoyed.

"Yes, of course I trust you, Casey. I want to watch, that's all."

Chuck's eyes shifted between his wife and her partner, observing the standoff. Sarah's face was placid, but her eyes challenged Casey to deny her. _God, she's hot_. Casey stared at her but finally conceded. "Fine, you can stay, but keep your comments to yourself."

She waved a hand, bidding him to begin. Casey lifted the bag, opened a side pocket, took out a hand towel and tossed it on the coffee table. "Lay that out flat on the table," he directed without looking up. Doing as he was told, Chuck laid the white towel smudged with what looked like black shoe polish out on the table. The big man ripped open the top zipper, withdrew a gun from it and set it on the fabric. Finally, he plunked a box of cartridges beside the pistol.

"Tell me what kind of gun that is," Casey ordered.

Chuck looked at the gun and answered evenly, "One that shoots bullets, I assume."

Casey glared at him. "Don't be a smartass when it comes to guns. When you blow your…" he looked like he was about to say something else but changed his mind, "foot off don't come running to me."

"Technically, Casey, if I blow my foot off, I won't be able to run anywhere," Chuck said drolly.

"You know what?" Casey growled, snatching up the box of cartridges and shoving it back in the bag. "I don't need this crap from you. If you're not going to take this seriously, I'll just go home for a while. I've got a time slot at the gun range in two hours. I was going to work with you, but now I'll go by myself instead."

Realizing he had blown it, especially when the look on Sarah's face told him she didn't find his remarks particularly funny either, he sobered and said genuinely, "I'm sorry. I promise, no more smartass comments." He dragged his finger across his chest, making an "X" and continued, "Cross my heart."

Casey's eyes blazed at him, causing Chuck to squirm in his seat. "Keep your head in the game, or your wife will be stuck teaching you 'cause I'll be out of here."

"I'll take this seriously," he replied somberly. After more glaring, Casey put the box back on the table and lowered himself onto the couch.

"What kind of gun is this?" Casey asked again.

Without touching it, Chuck moved his face closer and examined it. Several snarky comments popped into his head, but he pushed them away. He really did need to concentrate on what Casey wanted to teach him. "It's not a revolver, and it looks similar to Sarah's gun, so my guess is that it's a semi-automatic. Nine millimeter?"

"Yeah, it's a Beretta 92FS, also known as an M9."

"Is this the gun you use all the time?"

"No, I use a SIG Sauer P229. Custom made with Crimson Trace laser grips," Casey informed him proudly.

"How come you're not going to teach me how to use that one?"

He received a silent glare in answer.

"Right. Silly question." Chuck swallowed nervously and waited for the other man to continue.

"When handling a gun, what's the first thing you always do?"

"Figure out if it's loaded," Chuck answered immediately.

Casey's head snapped up in surprise. "That's right. Before we do anything else, I'm going to show you how to do that. Then I'm going to show you how to take it apart and put it back together."

Chuck nodded. "Sarah showed us how to do that with hers."

"Every type of gun is a little different. I'll show you first and then you'll do it." Much like what Sarah had done, Casey narrated each step as he took the gun apart and then reassembled it. When he was finished, he inserted the empty magazine and pulled the slide back. It locked back, exposing the empty chamber.

Casey held out the gun for Chuck to take, being sure it was pointed in a safe direction. Chuck's mouth went dry and his hands grew sweaty. He had never touched a gun before in his life. When he hesitated, Casey snarked, "Oh, come on. Don't be a Nancy. Take it." Chuck wiped his palms on his jeans and then pinched the gun by the slide. He kept it dangling between his thumb and index finger like the sidearm was covered in germs.

Rolling his eyes, Casey said, "Hold it by the grip, you mor—." Sarah, who had so far kept her word by staying silent, cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow at him.

Chuck carefully maneuvered his hands so that he held the gun by the grip. Making sure to not point it at anyone, he held it the way he had seen Sarah do so, with his finger resting on the slide, never coming near the trigger.

"Good," Casey said. "You're keeping your finger off the trigger. Is this gun loaded?"

Chuck examined the chamber and saw that it was empty. He pressed the button on the side of the pistol, causing the clip to slide into his awaiting hand. He answered, "No, it's not loaded."

"Good, now press the oval button on one side and flip the lever on the other side down," Casey instructed.

Before he did so, he placed the clip on the table and glanced over at Sarah. He felt a surge of confidence when he saw the look of pride on her face. She gave him an encouraging smile and nodded for him to continue.

Taking a deep breath, he did as directed and successfully removed the slide assembly from the frame. Flipping it over, he pushed in the recoil spring and removed it and the guide rod and placed them both on the table. Finally, he took the barrel assembly from the slide and set everything on the towel.

He felt pretty good about what he had been able to accomplish so far. Plus, he found that handguns weren't particularly scary when they were in a half dozen pieces.

"Not bad for a newbie," Casey said. "We'll talk about cleaning it another time. Now, reassemble it."

Realizing his shoulders were scrunched up around his neck, he made a point of bouncing them up and down a couple of times to loosen them. After wiping his hands once again, this time on the front of his t-shirt, he picked up the barrel and put it back in the slide. Things didn't go so smoothly, however, when he attempted to put the rod and spring back in. As he pushed at the spring, his finger slipped and the spring and rod went flying, bounced once on the table and rolled onto the floor.

"Way to go, butterfingers," Casey razzed.

Sarah picked up the spring and rod that had landed near her feet and handed them back to him. "It's fine, Chuck. We've all had a spring fly on us. Just take your time and try again."

Her words helped settle him as he took the pieces from her with a grateful smile. He doubted that she had ever actually had a spring fly on her, but he appreciated her trying to soothe him just the same.

He was able to get the spring back in without any more hitches. The slide went back onto the frame and he locked it into place.

"Be careful when you put the slide on. The hammer is back and if you're not careful—"

"_Yeow!"_ Chuck cried, pain searing through his left hand. He yanked away and jammed the part of his hand between his thumb and index finger into his mouth.

Sarah sprang from her chair and went to his side. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he mumbled around his hand still stuffed in his mouth.

"The hammer got him," Casey said.

"Let me see," she said, gently pulling his hand from his mouth. Examining it together, he could see that the hammer had dug out a chunk of skin. Blood seeped from the wound and dribbled down the back of his hand.

"I'm not good with pain," he said, wincing as she took him by the elbow helping him to stand.

"I don't know," she replied, looking into his face. "You don't look like you're about to pass out, and you're not screaming in pain, so I think you're being quite brave."

As Sarah led him toward the kitchen, holding his hand up to keep the blood from dripping, he heard Casey growl from behind, "Don't expect a Purple Heart for that."

"He's such a big softy," Chuck said through gritted teeth as Sarah turned on the faucet over the kitchen sink and stuck his hand under the running water. The cold water helped alleviate the deeper pain almost immediately. Unfortunately, at the same time, the part where the skin was torn stung as the water rushed over it. Once the wound was clean, Sarah mercifully shut off the faucet, tore off a paper towel from the roll on the stand on the counter and pressed it over the gash. Her thumbs pressed down on the torn skin in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

"You're pretty calm, cool and collected when it comes to blood and stuff," Chuck said, noticing Sarah's composed demeanor.

Still pressing down on his wound, she smiled and said, "I had to remove a bullet from a guy once. I think I can handle you getting your hand pinched."

"You removed a bullet?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured, raising the paper towel and examining his hand. "From an agent's shoulder. We couldn't take him to a hospital—bad guys were looking for him—so I had to dig out the bullet and stitch him up." She reapplied the paper towel, lifted his other hand and said, "Here, keep pressure on it."

He did as he was told and watched as she went to a cupboard and withdrew a box of Band-Aids and a tube of Neosporin. She shuffled through the box's contents, looking for the right size bandage to apply. "You somehow get more and more amazing," Chuck said, feeling the rush of pride that came each time he heard about his wife's exploits.

Still rummaging through the box, her cheeks pinked as she popped a shoulder up and down. "I just did what I was trained to do." She seemed to have found what she was looking for since she removed two Band-Aids and set the box on the counter next to the tube. Holding one in each hand, she said, "Plain or Hello Kitty?"

He put on his best frown. "No Spider-Man?"

She chuckled and said, "No. Those always get used up first. Somehow the boys end up needing Band-Aids more often than the girls." At his raised eyebrow, she responded, "Not a commentary. Just being factual."

"Since we're going to a gun range, I'll take the plain."

"Don't want your masculinity questioned?" she asked as she tore open the wrapper, exposing the bandage.

"Nah. I don't want to embarrass Casey in front of his friends," he answered dryly.

He always felt a warm happiness infuse him when he could get her to smile like she did just then. Working quickly, she squirted some ointment on the gash and then covered it with the Band-Aid. "There," she said gently rubbing her thumbs over the bandage to make sure the adhesive stuck to his skin. "All set."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked. When she gazed at him quizzically, he added, "Something you always do for the little ones?"

He could tell when her face cleared she knew exactly what he was talking about. Instead, she asked, "You want me to give you a bowl of ice cream?"

Silently, he slowly shook his head.

Heaving a pretend put upon sigh, she raised his injured hand to her lips and pressed them to the bandage. "You know," he said putting a finger to his jaw, "I cut myself shaving this morning." Smiling, she kissed the jaw. "My lips are a little chapped, too," he said hopefully. Chuckling, she nodded and gently kissed his lips. When the kiss broke, she stepped back and said, "Before you go all 'Indiana Jones' on me, pointing out every bump and boo-boo that needs a kiss, you need to finish up your lesson with Casey."

"I should have never shown you that movie," he protested mildly as she took his hand and pulled him back toward the living room. "You're learning all my secrets. Although I have to admit that you recognizing things from movies more than makes up for it."

The brilliant grin she flashed him made him go weak in the knees. "Really? Inconceivable!"

~ O ~

If someone had told Chuck a year ago by the same time next year he would be married, he would have thought it unlikely, but not impossible. If they had told him he would be married to the most beautiful, smart, sexy and charming woman on the planet, he would have laughed and said that _was_ impossible. If they had further informed him that his beautiful and charming wife was an agent for the CIA, he would have informed them that they were insane and needed help. If they would have told him that he would be standing at a gun range, pistol in hand ready to squeeze the trigger with his hot, secret agent wife standing to one side of him and her large, monosyllabic uttering and intimidating partner of the NSA on the other, he would have called a mental institution himself because clearly they were operating in an alternate universe.

Yet, here he stood, not in an alternate universe at all. This was all both very real, and very surreal. He was holding a real gun that held real bullets that he himself had loaded into the magazine. He wanted to wipe his palms on his jeans again, but he was already in the Weaver stance Casey had demonstrated to him. Through the protective earmuffs pressing in over his ears, he could hear the muffled pops of other guns being discharged up and down the row. Thankfully, the glasses he wore weren't fogging up from the nervous perspiration that had erupted on his face.

The black bull's-eye of the paper target was in his sights. He just needed to pull the trigger. From the corner of his eye, he saw the major shift his weight and cross his arms over his chest with impatience. Remembering everything Casey had instructed him on—with a couple of additional comments from Sarah—he took a breath, blew it out and squeezed the trigger.

By some miracle, he managed to hold onto the gun and not have it fly out of his hand since there was more recoil than he had expected. Even through the ear protection, he could hear the loud bang. Casey had told him that once he had started shooting, he needed to keep going until the clip was empty. So that's what he did. He squeezed off round after round until the slide locked back, indicating that the magazine was empty. He removed the clip and laid it and the gun down on the counter in front of him, being sure the muzzle pointed downrange. Relieved that the weapon was safely out of his hands, he finally indulged himself in wiping his sweaty palms.

They all took off their ear protection and then Casey flicked a switch. The target carrier zipped toward them on an overhead rail. The paper fluttered as it approached and came to an abrupt stop just on the other side of the counter. Chuck frowned when he saw only one hole in the paper. It was at the outside edge of the concentric circles.

"It might work better if you keep your eyes open next time, Bartowski," Casey groused.

"My eyes were…" he started to say but then his voice trailed off. The big man was right. He remembered opening his eyes when the clip went empty. "…closed."

Casey glowered at him. He replaced the used target with a new one and flipped the switch again, sending the target flying away from them.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "It's fine, Chuck," Sarah said quietly. "It was your first time. You can't be expected to be perfect the first time you've ever shot a gun." Squeezing his shoulder in encouragement, she added, "Just take your time." Her reassuring demeanor helped settle him. Unfortunately, the calm didn't translate to his ability to hit the target. His marksmanship didn't experience any serious improvement over the next several rounds of practice, even with his eyes open.

"How can you be such a crappy shot?" Casey griped. "Didn't you say you used to play those shoot 'em video games when you were a kid?"

"Yes, I did, but using a plastic gun on a video game and a real one at a shooting range are hardly the same thing," Chuck said defensively.

"You point and shoot," Casey shot back. "It's just not that hard."

"It might not be for you," Chuck replied angrily, "since you seemed to have been literally born with a gun in your hand." He knew he should be scared at Casey's thunderous countenance, but he was too mad. "This is a _real_ gun with _real_ bullets used to _kill_ people, Casey. I'm doing the best I can," he stated as dispassionately as he could.

"Well, it's not good enough," Casey muttered.

The two men stood toe-to-toe, defiantly staring at each other. Sarah stepped between them, and put a hand on each of their chests. Addressing Casey, she said, "He's nervous. I can see him flinch every time he pulls the trigger. I have an idea on how to relax him. You stay here and do some target practice." Turning to Chuck, she said, "You come with me out to the van."

Chuck stared, wide-eyed at her.

"You're killing me, Walker," Casey grimaced. "You just made me throw up in my mouth a little."

"What?" She looked at each of them and then laughed with understanding. "No, that's not what I meant!" Chuck was pretty sure his head was about to explode when she gave him a predatory look and purred, "Although that's not a bad idea. That _would_ certainly relax you." Her comment provoked a grin from Chuck and a snarl from Casey.

"Your bag of guns is out in the van, right?" she asked her partner.

"Yeah," he answered slowly.

"Okay, we'll be back in a few minutes." She took Chuck's hand and made her way outside to the vehicle. Opening Casey's bag, she removed and laid out the weapons it contained until she found the gun she was looking for. She made sure it was unloaded and handed it to her husband. "Shove this in your waistband at the small of your back," she instructed him.

He took the gun and did what she said even as his insides twisted with anxiety. She carefully replaced the weapons back into the bag, grabbed a big box of ammo and slammed the back door of the van shut. The nerves in his stomach abated slightly when he saw the excitement on her face.

"What?"

"I think this will help you. Trust me."

"I always do."

He received from her a smile that melted his brain. "Turn around," she ordered. "I want to make sure the pistol is secure."

Once again, he did as he was told. He heard her make a happy, sighing noise. "You're not checking to see if the weapon is secure. You're checking out my ass!" he exclaimed. He felt pretty good about that, actually.

"So?" she asked as they headed back to the entrance of the shooting range.

"Carina was a bad influence on you," he stated with a grin.

"I think Carina is a bad influence on everyone," she replied as they approached Casey who was admiring the target in front of him. The center was gone and there were no other stray bullet holes anywhere on the paper.

"Nice grouping," Sarah said appreciatively.

"Thanks." He eyed them warily. "That was fast. Bartowski's quick on the trigger in more ways than one today, huh?"

"Very funny," Chuck grumbled. "We went out to get this," he said and pulled the pistol from his waistband, setting it on the counter. Sarah stepped forward and put the box of ammunition next to the pistol. Casey's face changed to immediate approval. "Good thinking, Walker. That might just work."

Chuck didn't appreciate being left in the dark. "What, exactly, are you talking about?"

"I know how hard you're working to overcome your aversion to guns. I'm so proud of you for how far you've come in such a short time," Sarah said. "I think over time you'll get more and more confident around them, and I think this will help you get there."

Puzzled, Chuck said, "It's still a gun."

"Yes, but it's been modified to shoot tranquilizer darts." She opened the top of the ammo box, grasped one of the darts by the end and held it up for him to see. The small dart had a short needle at one end and a black tip at the other.

"This is one of the tranq darts," she told him. "It contains ten milligrams of a non-lethal tranquilizer that will paralyze the person it hits almost instantaneously. They'll be unconscious a couple seconds after that, and they'll be out for a while, but otherwise will wake up unharmed."

It was as if someone lifted heavy weights from his shoulders. "And if I accidently shoot someone, it won't kill or even hurt them. Sarah, you're brilliant!"

Pleased, her eyes sparkled.

"Well, if you shoot someone in the eye, or while they're flying a helicopter or—"

"Thank you, Casey," Sarah said, cutting him off. "Ignore him. This pistol works like any other semi, only you'll load the magazine with these. Give it a try."

He did and this time when they examined the target, they could see that every shot had hit within the circles. Even more than that, most of them had hit somewhere inside the inner circles. Casey had him reload the magazine and practice again to make sure that the first time wasn't a fluke. It wasn't. If anything, Chuck's aim had significantly improved.

"Nice job, Bartowski. We're done for the day. We want to finish with a win," Casey said as he as he secured the gun and ammunition Chuck was originally using. "I'm gonna go enjoy a cold beverage from the vending machine. I'll see you at the van in a few. In the meantime," he said with a smirk, "police your brass."

"Do what now?" Chuck asked.

Casey pointed at the floor. Looking down, Chuck saw that it was littered with the spent shell casings that had been ejected from the pistol during his shooting session.

"We need to sweep up," Sarah explained.

Casey gave them a smug look and walked away. Sarah picked up the used up targets and folded them, while Chuck put down his tranq gun and opened the box that held the remaining darts. He ran a hand over the projectiles. "Some of these have black tips and others have blue tips. What's the difference?"

Sarah put her hand over his. "The blue tipped ones are called twilight darts. They'll make your target forget the last twelve hours of their lives. But the tradeoff is that they don't work as quickly. Whoever you hit will be able to function for ten seconds before they're knocked out."

"If… I have to shoot, how will I know which kind to use?"

"Casey or I will tell you."

"And if you and Casey aren't there?"

Sarah exhaled. "You're a smart man. I know you'll be able to size up the situation and make the right decision." Chuck started to smile at his wife's compliment. "And then, later, we'll have a talk about exactly why you were going into a situation where you needed a gun without Casey or me being there."

Chuck's grin slid off his face as he stared into a pair of serious blue eyes. "I'm guessing that probably wouldn't be a pleasant talk?"

"Probably not."

"But the make-up sex would be incredible?" he asked, hopefully.

Sarah's lips twitched. "You can think about that while you 'police your brass'. Get going, buster."

Chuck heaved a sigh as he retrieved a broom and dustpan and began to sweep the casings into a pile.

"What?" she asked when she caught him sneaking glances at her as he swept.

"You didn't shoot today," he pointed out.

"Today was your day to learn," she replied simply, stuffing the folded targets into a nearby trashcan.

"I… I've never seen you shoot before," he stammered, suddenly feeling like a schoolboy. "I mean, I was there when you shot Shaw, but I was really out of it from the drugs he'd pumped into me."

He received from her a sly smirk. "Would you like me to shoot my gun for you?"

Trying to look nonchalant, he shrugged a shoulder and said, "You know, if you want." He knew he had failed horribly at trying to play it cool as he could hear the obvious anticipation in his own voice.

The corners of her mouth quirked up, forming a small smile. Kneeling down, she retrieved her Smith & Wesson and a loaded clip from her purse on the floor. Straightening back up, she selected a target with the silhouette of a man's upper body, put it in place and sent it to the end of the range.

Protective gear donned once more, she slapped in the magazine, chambered a round and fired. Staying in her stance, she fired again and again. He knew he should be watching downrange, trying to see where her rounds were hitting the target, but he couldn't peel his eyes from her: her poise and composure, the way she gripped the gun in her hand, the red protective ear coverings contrasting against her blonde hair, the way her blue eyes were like lasers on the target…

He snapped out of his reverie when she removed the empty clip, took off her earmuffs and flipped the switch to bring the target back toward them. He blinked a couple of times and swallowed hard, hoping it hadn't been too obvious that he had drifted off to his happy place. The fact that the song "Happiness is a Warm Gun" played in his head while he was "away" was something he planned to keep to himself. Removing his muffs, he stepped up next to her and examined the target. Under his breath, he let out a low whistle. He wasn't surprised to see that her bullets had torn a hole in the bull's-eye at the center of the target. It was the other holes that made his insides flutter. There were two shots to the heart, a hole in each shoulder and one in the head. "God, you're hot," he breathed reverently. His head snapped up. "Did I just say that out loud?"

The grin on her face and the twinkle in her eyes gave him the answer. A year ago, he wouldn't have believed someone like Sarah Walker would ever look at him that way. Today, he knew he was the luckiest guy in the world.

~ O ~

That evening over dinner, Casey regaled the family with an account of his recently completed mission. Even though dinner had long since been finished, the kids lingered at the table with rapt attention as he spun his tale of transporting a piece of highly classified technology from Washington to an undisclosed secure location. They stared at him wide eyed as he described the way the metal of the handcuff that tethered the briefcase to his wrist felt cold against his skin.

"What was in the briefcase?" Martie asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "The only thing they told me was that it was some kind of new and important technology." Martie gazed at him, her face full of awe and admiration. "My mission was to get the briefcase from one place to the other. And that's what I did," he said simply.

"Weren't you curious? I'd want to know what was so important, or at least know what the thing did," Bridget said.

Casey shrugged. "Those eggheads at the NSA come up with all kinds of stuff. All I know is…" he leaned forward with his elbows on the table as if he were about to let them in on the most secret piece of intel ever. Each kid mirrored him and all held their collective breaths waiting to hear his pronouncement. Lowering his voice, he said, "…it was really heavy."

The two little ones stared at him in wonder while the others chuckled as they leaned back in their seats. "What if some bad guys caught you? Would you have to give them the briefcase?" Megan wanted to know.

"Nah. I couldn't have gotten it off even if I wanted to. There was only one person with a key to the handcuffs and it wasn't me. The only way for someone other than my contact at the drop off location to get the briefcase away from me was if they took a hatchet and chopped—"

"Thank you, Casey," Sarah said, cutting him off as everyone's faces, including Chuck's, looked at him, slightly disturbed. Noting the grimaces, she quickly changed the subject. "Uncle Chuck, Uncle Casey and I have been going over the specifics of our trip. It's going to be great, but we have to be prepared and think ahead. We'll be on planes, trains, buses, cars, and maybe even a boat or two. That's a lot of different ways for us to accidentally get separated."

"Right," Chuck said. "We're going to leave here with seven kids and we'd like to return with seven."

"The same seven?" Fred quipped.

"I think so," Chuck volleyed back with a grin. "It'd be so hard breaking in a new batch of kids. And what if they're not the same sizes as you guys? We'd have to buy all new clothes…"

A fierce scowl formed on Megan's face and she grumbled, "I don't want anyone else living in my room."

"He's just kidding," Lisa advised her.

The withering glare the little girl shot in Chuck's direction quickly chastened him. "Yes, we want to return with the same seven," he clarified.

Megan squinted at Chuck for another few seconds and then finally relented, looking away and giving him a reprieve. Sarah tried to hide her smile as she sipped water from her glass. Her husband gave her an amused wink. She thought about how one day, Megan Woodcomb would be a force to be reckoned. _No, scratch that. Megan Woodcomb is already a force to be reckoned with._

"Oh!" Curtis exclaimed. "Can we all get those earwig thingies like we used at the grocery store that one time during the fire?"

"No," Casey replied immediately. "Off limits."

"Maybe we could all have code names," Bridget ventured.

"There are seven of you," Chuck said, thinking. "Your code names can be the Seven Dwarfs! Let's see. There's Doc, Grumpy, Sneezy, Nerdy—"

"Uncle Chuck!" Megan giggled. "There's not a Nerdy."

He looked wounded. "Well, there should be."

"There is too a Nerdy," Casey said. "His name is Dopey." The room fell utterly and completely silent. Mouths agape, they stared at him. "What?" he growled defensively. "I know about Disney movies. I'm not a cyborg."

Curtis brightened. "It would be so cool if you were!"

"Yeah, it would," Casey answered with a gleam in his eye.

Lisa commented, "There are seven colors of the rainbow."

"Colors as your codenames?" Sarah asked, intrigued by the idea. Looking from face to face, she said, "Lizzie would be Red, Fred would be Orange and so on until we got down to you," looking at their youngest. "Megan, you would be… Vio—" She stopped herself. "You know, never mind. Too confusing."

"The colors remind me of when we had teams and we played 'Stealth Mode' on the way home from our hike. Remember that, Aunt Sarah?" Bridget said.

"I do." She also remembered the panic she felt when she realized Chuck was alone in the house and that there was an intruder. The memory caused a slight tremor to shoot through her. Shaking off the feeling, she said, "You guys were great that day and I think it's the perfect way for us to stay together. We'll each have a partner that we'll need to keep track of. Do you remember your teams?"

They started talking over each other and pointing towards their partners. "Apparently, you remember," Sarah said with a chuckle. "I was with Megan."

"We were Gold Team," the little girl supplied proudly.

Chuck's face split into a happy grin. "The spy and her clone," he chuckled.

Sarah bounced an eyebrow at him in response. "Lizzie and Martie were a team," she continued. "Red team, right?"

Nodding, Lizzie said, "Fred and Bridget were a team."

"Blue Team!" Fred shouted, reaching across the table to give his sister a high five.

"Curtis and I were the Black Team and we rocked!" Lisa called out, pointing at her brother.

"Yeah we did!" he hooted.

"You all rocked as I remember," Sarah laughed.

"But what about Uncle Casey," Martie said, frowning. "He's left out."

"So is Uncle Chuck," Bridget added.

Her eyes twinkling, Lizzie said slyly, "_They_ can be a team."

"Pink Team!" Fred crowed.

Martie clapped her hands with delight. "My favorite color!"

Waving her hands across each other, Sarah called out over the din of merriment, "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Uncle Chuck's on _my_ team!" Some of the laughs turned into hoots. Her husband's megawatt grin nearly knocked her out of her chair. _Yeah, he _definitely_ needs to be on _my_ team_.

"But now Uncle Casey's by himself again," Martie said, obviously concerned that her hero was still being left out.

"Wait!" Lisa called out. "We're forgetting Uncle Morgan! He'll be there. _He_ can be Uncle Casey's partner."

"Pink Team!" they shouted as one.

Casey groaned and rolled his eyes. "Not the little bearded guy. I'd rather take my chances and get lost."

Laughter overtook the room again and it was some time before everyone settled down. "We'll talk a lot more about this before our trip," Chuck said, "but I think us traveling as teams and looking out for each other is a great idea. In the meantime, it's time for you all to finish your homework." All the kids, except Lizzie, picked up their plates and headed out of the room.

Elbow resting on the table, Lizzie propped her chin in her palm and gazed at Casey. Her voice was brimming with cheek when she said, "Too bad Aunt Carina's not coming along with us, then you two could be a team. Again."

Casey narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, come on, Uncle Sugar Bear," Lizzie said, laughing. "I found her earrings on your dresser in your apartment when we had to stay there." At the scowl she received from him, she explained, "I wasn't snooping. They were sitting right there."

"Not that it's any of your business, missy, but those earrings were in my pocket from when we picked up Ma Barker over here," he tipped his head in Sarah's direction, "and her redheaded accomplice from jail. I forgot to take them out before I left that night. When I got home, I dropped them on the dresser and forgot to give them back."

"I _suppose_ it could have happened that way," Lizzie said slowly, gazing at him as if trying to decide if he was being truthful or not. Apparently deciding to drop the whole thing, she popped up from her chair, scampered over and stood behind him. Dropping her hands on his shoulders, she said, "I'm sorry, Uncle Casey. I shouldn't have assumed. Forgive me?"

Mollified, he drawled, "Yeah."

"Thank you," she chirped. "You're the best." She kissed his cheek and then bounded out of the room.

All that remained in the dining room were the three adults. "Good luck with her," Casey said sardonically.

"She's a great kid," Chuck said, coming to their oldest's defense. "Can we help it if she likes to tease her Uncle Sugar Bear?"

"Shut it, Bartowski," he warned.

"I don't get to tease you the way she does?" Chuck asked innocently.

"No, and before I have to endure any more crap from you, I'm outta here. I'm going home to clean my weapons." Casey stood and stared at Chuck, thinking. "Except for the Beretta you used today." His eyes glinted when he continued, "You'll be cleaning it. That will be tomorrow's lesson." Staring at the Band-Aid on his student's hand, he added, "Try not to mangle your other hand, would you?"

Chuck's gaze drifted from Casey and alit on Sarah. "Help," he mouthed.

"Don't worry, 'Indy,'" she replied with a small smile. "I know how to make your injuries better."

"You people never stop, do you?" Casey grumbled as he stalked out of the room, their laughter sounding in his slipstream.

After they heard the front door slam, Chuck stood and began to collect the abandoned plates at his end of the table. "That never gets old, does it?"

"No," she replied with delight. "It never does."


	14. Promenade

**A/N the first: **Greetings! Welcome to another heart pounding, nail biting, edge of your seat installment of… Hum? It's not? Oh. Okay. Erm… Welcome!

Thank you for reading, and for the reviews, comments, PMs, tweets, and alerts for this story. You all are the best! And thank you to those of you who inquired regarding my family and me as our beautiful state of Colorado deals with these tragic and devastating wildfires. We are safe. Know that the firefighters working these fires on the ground and in the air are heroes, plain and simple.

And as always, my thanks go to **AgentInWaiting** who did a phenomenal job beta-ing this chapter. You, sir, get a virtual gold star. I know. You're all tingly with excitement.

This chapter is for **Catrogue**.

**Chapter 14 – Promenade**

The highly anticipated day finally arrived and there was one word that dominated Lizzie, Lisa and Bridget's vocabulary: prom. The chatter surrounding the dance so overwhelmed breakfast that Chuck and Sarah had allowed the siblings with the "y" chromosome to take their plates from the kitchen and seek shelter in the TV room where they could eat their pancakes in peace.

At lunch, the boys' unspoken displeasure was evinced by the exasperation on their faces when hair, makeup, shoes, dresses, limos, flowers and jewelry continued to prevail as the topics of discussion. Both Chuck and Sarah tried to steer the conversation to something that would involve the boys as well, but eventually gave up when they realized it always ended up back on the same topic: prom.

By afternoon, the house was segregated. The males, including Casey who had arrived after lunch, were hunkered down playing _Call of Duty._ The females, including Sarah, Martie and Megan—each of whom had been sucked into the prom vortex—were upstairs helping Lizzie get ready for her big night. Sarah was glad that all the girls were a part of the preparations since it turned out to be a fun time of "female bonding." Much to Sarah's delight, she soon recognized that to the two youngest, "helping" meant that Martie frequently exclaimed how pretty Lizzie looked and Megan did not—even though everyone knew she wanted to—clomp up and down the hallway in her oldest sister's silver high heeled sandals.

After much discussion over the previous several days—the boys complaining that it seemed more like a year—it was decided that Lizzie would wear her hair up, similar to the way Ellie had worn hers on her wedding day; swept back, gathered and pinned around the back of her head.

Sarah was helping Lizzie put on the finishing touches of her makeup when the doorbell rang. "Aunt Sarah! I'm not ready!" she exclaimed, her nerves evident when she knocked over a bottle of perfume, the top of which was fortunately tightened securely.

"Relax, Lizzie, it's okay," Sarah replied in a soothing tone. Righting the bottle, she added, "Brock can wait for a few minutes. I'm sure your Uncle Chuck will make him feel welcome."

The look on Lizzie's face conveyed complete and abject horror. "It's not Uncle Chuck I'm worried about. Fred and Curtis are down there, too." Groaning, she said, "They're sooooooooo embarrassing."

"Uncle Casey can help keep the boys from being embarrassing, Lizzie," Martie said helpfully.

That didn't seem to help at all. "He'll scare him so badly, Brock may leave before I even get downstairs. Please, Aunt Sarah, make sure they don't torment my prom date," she pleaded.

Placing a calming hand on her shoulder, Sarah replied, "Yes, I'll make sure. You'll be down in a couple of minutes?"

Her niece nodded, the color returning to her face. "Yeah, I'm almost ready."

"Okay." Sarah stepped forward and kissed her cheek. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks," she answered shyly.

Sarah hurried down the stairs and cringed when she reached the bottom step. There they were, all five of them, sitting stiffly in the living room. An awkward silence hung over them like a pall. _Oh, boy_. She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face and strode into the room, hand outstretched. "Hi, you must be Brock. I'm Lizzie's aunt," she said as she approached the tuxedoed young man.

They all stood when she entered. Brock smiled and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bartowski."

She stepped back and glanced quickly at the faces around her. Casey was still scrutinizing Lizzie's date. Fred obviously still didn't like Brock and Curtis seemed to think the whole thing was rather amusing. Chuck looked relieved that she was there. Brock was surprisingly composed considering the circumstances and held in his hand a clear plastic container that contained the corsage he'd brought. Sizing him up quickly, Sarah could see why he was a popular kid. He was very good-looking, with dark hair, light blue eyes and a dimpled chin. _He's going to break a lot of hearts_.

"Lizzie will be down in a minute," she motioned for him to sit down again. They all returned to their seats. _Looks like I'm going to be the one to keep the conversation going here_. She found a place next to Chuck and said, "Brock, I understand you and Lizzie will be going to dinner with another couple tonight."

"Yeah, Monica and Roy," he said, the slightest hint of condescension in his voice. "It was Lizzie's idea. They're not as cool as we are, you know, he's not, like on the football team or anything, but she's Lizzie's friend…" He shrugged and brushed at a piece of lint on his pants. "We can always meet up with _my_ friends later."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fred frown. "You're going to _Magnifico _for dinner," she continued. "That's a pretty posh place."

Brock waved a hand as if it was no big deal. "My dad knows the head chef. It only took a phone call for us to get the best table in the place."

She noticed one side of Casey's upper lip pull up into a tiny snarl. _Lizzie better hurry or this is might end badly_. Her niece seemed to read her mind as there was a buzz of voices at the top of the stairs. As one, all in the living room stood and turned toward the sounds. Lizzie slowly glided down the staircase, an absolute vision in her long, blue Parisian dress. One hand delicately touched the railing as the other clutched a small silver purse. Excitement shone in her eyes and a happy smile graced her face. Her sisters' faces glowed just as brightly as they watched over the railing.

"Ellie," Chuck whispered. Sarah snuck a peek at him. She felt her throat tighten when saw the look on his face. There was pride, of course, but it was tinged with a hint of regret. She knew he was feeling his sister's absence; that she wasn't there to see the beautiful and poised young woman her eldest daughter had become. Sarah slipped her hand into his and held to it tightly. His eyes were wet when he gave her a wistful look.

From behind, she heard Fred say in quiet awe, "She looks just like Mom in her wedding pictures."

"Yeah, she does," came Curtis' soft response.

Brock and Lizzie stood facing each other. "You look really pretty," he said.

"Thanks," she answered shyly. "You look nice, too." They stood staring for a moment. Brock jerked suddenly, realizing he was holding her corsage. Opening the box and taking it out, he said, "Here, I got this for you."

He held it out to her. She slipped it on her wrist and smiled. "Oh! I got you a boutonniere. It's in the fridge." She turned to head toward the kitchen.

Fred stepped up. "I… I'll get it for you," he said, rushing off to the kitchen. He was back in a flash and handed a small box to his sister.

"Thanks, Fred," she said softly, smiling at him.

He grinned back. Suddenly, he said, "Come on, Curtis. Let's go watch TV."

Curtis didn't have to be asked twice. As he fled the room, he called out, "Bye, Lizzie! Have fun!"

Fred was close at his brother's heels when he, too, called out, "See you, Brock! Have fun, Liz!"

With the boys gone, Casey suddenly looked uncomfortable. Nodding stiffly at the two teenagers he said, "Brock. Lizzie," and escaped to the television room with the boys.

Now that the room had somewhat cleared, those who remained relaxed. Lizzie successfully pinned the boutonniere to Brock's lapel, gauged by the fact that no blood was spilled.

Photos were taken in the backyard by Chuck, with him making sure the blackened trees weren't in the background. Lizzie pointed out to Brock the area where the gazebo had been and explained that its charred remains had been removed. All that was left was the scorched ground. Sarah was glad that the new gazebo, which was expected to be finished before they left for their trip, would cover the ugly scar.

The time came for Lizzie and Brock to leave as they still needed to pick up Monica and Roy at Monica's house and get to the restaurant in time for their reservation.

The four of them stood by the front door. "The prom is over at midnight. I expect Lizzie home by no later than twelve-thirty," Chuck informed Brock. Sarah wasn't sure she'd ever seen such a stern look on her husband's face. "That should be plenty of time to get back here from Vail after it's over."

"Some of my friends are having an after-prom party and I was hoping—" Brock started.

"No," Chuck said resolutely, cutting him off. Sarah noticed Lizzie's immediate disappointment. Chuck and Sarah had talked about the potential of something like this coming up, and as much as they trusted their niece and wanted to give her some freedom, they both knew any activities beyond the prom was trouble waiting to happen. Lizzie's eyes pleaded with Sarah, but she could only respond with a "sorry-but-I-agree-with-your-uncle" look. There was a sigh of resignation.

In a final parting message, Chuck warned, "No drinking." This elicited an exaggerated eye roll and exasperated, "Uncle Chuck! I'm not going to drink!"

"We know, but now no one can say we didn't tell you not to," he replied.

That earned him another eye roll and a soft groan of exasperation. Sarah, realizing that things needed to move along, stepped forward and kissed Lizzie's cheek. "Have a wonderful time and remember what we talked about." Lizzie's sole response was a wink.

It was Sarah's turn to wink at Chuck when he gave her an odd look and then opened the door. The prom couple stepped out first, followed by Chuck and Sarah who stayed standing on the front porch. A black stretch limo was parked out front of the house and Lizzie fairly skipped with glee, holding tightly to Brock's hand. The driver quickly rounded the limo and opened the door for his passengers. The teenagers, resplendent in their formalwear, slid into the backseat, first Lizzie and then Brock. They disappeared behind darkened glass when the door closed behind them. The limo pulled away from the house, slowly drove down the street and then was gone.

~ O ~

The death grip John Casey had on the steering wheel of his SUV caused his knuckles to turn white. This family was going to be the death of him as he felt his blood pressure climb. So far he had resisted buying a bonsai tree for his place in Colorado, but if these late night calls kept coming in from Walker, the nerd or their kids, he was going to need something to help keep him calm.

"First your wife and now your niece. It won't be long before we have to pick up Megan at juvie for knocking over liquor stores and boosting cars," Casey groused, glancing over at Chuck in the passenger seat.

"Lay off, Casey," Chuck shot back, his face grim. "Lizzie's not in jail. Why do you assume she's even _in_ trouble. All I know is we got a call from the principal telling us to come pick her up at the hotel where they're having the prom."

"I'm not assuming _she_ did anything wrong, but maybe she got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time with that _kid_." His voice was full of contempt. "What do you know about this _Brock_, anyway?" Casey asked, shooting an accusatory look toward Chuck. "He's kind of a snot if you ask me. Fred had him pegged all along." His grip on the wheel tightened as he pressed on the accelerator harder. The SUV shot forward in response. "Does the punk have a criminal record?"

Chuck snapped his head up. "I don't know."

"What does his father do for a living?"

"I don't know."

"Is he the father of any illegitimate child—"

"Casey! Come on!" Chuck's growing irritation was evident. "I trust Lizzie."

"Yeah, well, you can trust her all you want. It's her _date_ I'm worried about. Wrong place, wrong time, Bartowski."

Casey let the conversation drop. Clearly, he would have to take a more active role in vetting the girls' dates. As they drove in silence, he failed to see what the big deal was about prom anyway. It seemed to him like a giant waste of time and money. He had skipped the thing altogether when he was in high school. As the youngest president ever of a chapter of the National Rifle Association, he had organized an evening at the local gun range as an alternative to the prom. One of the members had brought along his Mark I Desert Eagle .357 Magnum. All these years later, he could still remember the awe of not only seeing, but actually firing such a magnificent weapon. What a special night. It had been his first time.

He wheeled the SUV into the hotel parking lot at what he considered a normal rate of speed. Apparently, his passenger didn't since Chuck braced himself with an elbow against the door on one side and gripped the armrest on the other. Two more quick turns and they came to a seatbelt-straining stop in a parking space.

"You can open your eyes now, Bartowski," Casey said, throwing the door open. He was already half way across the parking lot before Chuck had closed his door. The big man never broke stride as he heard Chuck jog up to him and fall in step. Once they were through the front door, they immediately heard music, which grew louder and louder as they followed it through the lobby and down a corridor.

A young woman wearing a long, sherbet orange dress, stopped them at the entrance of the ballroom. "I'm sorry, but this is a school prom. You aren't allowed to go in."

"I got a phone call from Mr. Thomas. We're here to pick up Lizzie Woodcomb," Chuck informed her.

"Oh," she said quietly, her eyes widened with understanding. "Go ahead."

Casey's hands involuntarily balled into tight fists. He squinted at the girl and then scowled at Chuck. Grimly, Chuck stared back at him for a few seconds before he rushed into the ballroom, Casey just behind him.

The instant they stepped into the ballroom, a brew of sweat, perfume, and body odor assaulted them. The thumping music and flashing lights filled the room with jubilation and frenzy. "Animals," Casey muttered to himself when he saw that many of couples didn't dance so much as grind against each other.

A tall, distinguished looking man with greying hair and a commanding presence approached them. "Gentleman, what can I do for you?"

"I'm Chuck Bartowski. I got a call to come pick up my niece, Lizzie Woodcomb. Is she okay?" Chuck asked, his apprehension palpable.

"Yes, she's fine," the man said reassuringly. Shaking Chuck's hand, he continued, "I'm Mr. Thomas, the principal. She wanted to call you herself to come pick her up and take her home. Given the circumstances, however, I felt it best that I be involved."

Through clenched teeth, Casey asked, "What do you mean by 'circumstances?'"

"And you are?" Mr. Thomas asked.

"Lizzie's Uncle Casey." At the other man's perplexed look, Casey stood tall. "We're a big family."

"Okay then," Mr. Thomas said placidly. He set off at a fast pace toward one wall of the room with Chuck on one side and Casey on the other. "I'll have her tell you. Rest assured, she's not in trouble."

When Chuck gave him a questioning look, the principal said, "There was a bit of a problem with her date."

Casey felt the veins in his forehead start to throb. The low, menacing growl that rumbled from his chest cut across the music and caused the other two men to eye him warily.

"Casey," Chuck said in a warning tone.

When his head snapped toward Chuck, Casey grunted like a bull about to charge. His nostrils flared and his eyes snapped with ire. He was only pulled from his thunderous rage when he saw Lizzie stand from one of the chairs lined up against the wall and walking forward to meet them. He noticed that her hair was a little messier than it had been when she left the house, but she otherwise looked unhurt. A young man, about the same height as Lizzie with straight blond hair and glasses stood from the chair he had occupied next to her and awkwardly trailed behind her at a respectful distance. Another couple that had sat on the other side of Lizzie stayed seated and looked on.

She went to Chuck first and gave him a long hug. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly. She nodded against his shoulder. She released Chuck and went to Casey, who enveloped her in his arms.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Chuck asked, his voice nearly choked with worry.

She nodded against Casey's chest. Her arms tightened around him and then let go. Stepping back, she smoothed her hair with her hands. Then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Dinner was really nice," she started. Lizzie turned and waved at the couple still sitting against the wall. The young brunette woman in the large red dress waved back. Her date seemed indifferent to it all and stared at the people on the dance floor. Turning back, she explained, "That's my friend, Monica and her date, Roy. We had a nice time and everything was fine until a little while ago. Brock started to want to grind when we danced and I didn't want to. He…" she took another deep breath and stared at the floor. "He started to get a little forceful," she said quietly.

The rage started to build again and burned in Casey's chest. He really needed to break something, preferably a bone or twelve in that smug—

"Did he hurt you?" Chuck growled. Casey had never heard the other man's voice sound so hard and cold.

Lizzie shook her head and lifted her gaze to meet Chuck's. Behind the tears that glistened, her eyes flashed. Throwing her shoulders back, she said, "I flipped him."

"You… you flipped him? On his back?" Chuck asked, astonished.

"Mm-hmm."

"Right in the middle of the dance floor?"

"Not _right_ in the middle. We were off to one side."

"And you flipped him? Just like that?" Chuck repeated.

"Well, yes. You need to always be prepared."

Chuck paused, recalling the same words had been said to him before. "Aunt Sarah?"

"Aunt Sarah," his niece confirmed.

He turned to the principal who had hung back. "So, she's not in trouble?"

The other man stepped forward. "No, not at all. There are a number of students who saw what happened and said that Lizzie did what needed to be done."

"Good girl," Casey said through the side of his mouth. He received a self-conscious smile from her in return.

"Actually," Mr. Thomas said with a wry smile, "your niece impressed a number of our female students. I've had quite a few already ask me if she would be willing to lead a self-defense club on campus."

Flabbergasted, Lizzie said, "Really? I figured I wouldn't have any friends after this."

"Quite the contrary," Mr. Thomas said.

"Will Brock be punished at all?" Chuck asked.

"Unfortunately, boorish behavior doesn't break any rules," the principal replied. As Chuck, Lizzie and Mr. Thomas continued to talk, Casey scanned the room. On the other side of the ballroom, he saw a cluster of people and at the center of it stood Lizzie's erstwhile date. Brock shot angry glares in their direction while his sycophants laughed derisively.

Casey slipped away from the group he was with and wandered toward Brock's. They watched him warily as he approached. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants, he tried to look nonchalant. Ignoring Brock's posse, he walked slowly up to Brock and stared at him right in the eyes. "Big man," he said in a menacing voice, "trying to force your date to do something she's uncomfortable with."

Brock smirked. "Who said she didn't want it?" he sneered. A titter of laughter came from his toadies. "She tries to act like a goody-goody, but everybody knows she's just a sl—"

Casey's face moved within an inch of Brock's. "You need to be more respectful of women," he growled through gritted teeth. "And you think you're such a hot shot after she kicked your ass?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Brock's crew start to deliberately back away. Moving his face away, Casey put out his hand, palm up and demanded, "Give it up."

"What? I don't know what you're talking about." The boy's eyes shifted and his bravado began to crumble now that he was facing Casey alone, his friends having scattered.

"Give me the flask. I can smell it on your breath, you little piece of—" He stopped himself. "You reek of cheap whiskey. Lizzie wouldn't have recognized it, but I do." When Brock hesitated, he gave the kid his most fearsome glare and snarled, "_Give. Me. The. Flask_." The teen's resolve finally gave way. From the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a silver hip flask and placed it in Casey's awaiting palm.

Casey shot him another disdainful glare and unscrewed the small cap. Sniffing the contents, he scrunched his nose. "Daddy locks up the good stuff, huh?" He swished the liquid around a little. "Not much left. You sharing it with those really cool friends of yours?" he snarked. "The ones that left you?"

Brock's gaze flicked around the room. The music thumped out a song about a girl who just met a guy and, even though it was crazy, gave him her phone number and noncommittally asked him to call her. The song was so incredibly annoying it made Casey want to jam an icepick in his ears just so he wouldn't have to listen to its inanity anymore. Most couples continued to dance, even as they surreptitiously watched the drama unfolding. Casey knew the kid didn't want to lose face in front of everyone in the room, so he wasn't surprised when Brock glared back at him with renewed courage. "Give if back," the teen ordered, challenging the man who could snap him in half like a dry twig. "You can't touch me," he said defiantly. "I'm a minor. And there are all these witnesses."

Casey drew up to his full, intimidating height. Staring down his nose at the little twerp in front of him, he growled quietly, "No, you're right. I can't. But you won't be a minor forever. You're what, seventeen? Less than a year, you'll be an official adult." The corner of his upper lip lifted into a menacing sneer. "I can wait." He paused. "And watch." He glared at him until Brock flinched. Wordlessly, Casey bent over, carefully placed the flask on the floor, and raised his foot directly over it. He pinned his stare back on the kid and without it wavering, drove the heel of his boot into the center of the metal container. Picking up the crushed and flattened flask, he slapped it against Brock's chest and said, "Here you go, boy." He turned and stalked away.

As he returned to his group, he said to Mr. Thomas, "You might want to check Brock and his friends for alcohol. Mr. Wonderful over there has a flask." His eyes flashed. "I'm afraid it's a bit bent."

"I'll do that right now. Thank you," the principal said, shaking his hand. Next he shook Chuck's and then said to his student, "See you at school on Monday, Lizzie. I wouldn't worry about seeing Brock—or any of his friends for that matter—at school for the next few days." With that, he dipped his head, left them and walked straight toward Brock.

"Ooooooo, look at his face. He knows he's busted," Lizzie said gleefully. "What a tool."

"Are you sure you want to go home? Chuck asked. "My guess is Brock won't be here much longer and I'm sure your friend and her date would be happy to have you stay."

The young man who had hung back the whole time stepped forward a couple of paces and said hopefully, "You should, Lizzie. I could hang out with you." Nervously, he stuck a finger into the collar of his dress shirt and pulled it as if trying to stop it from choking him.

Lizzie gave him a smile, stepped over and faced him. "That's very sweet of you, Adam, but I'm just going to go home. My ride's already here and I kind of want to just get out of here." She reached out and straightened his tie. "Thank you for staying with me."

To Casey, the poor kid looked like he was about to throw up. "Any time," the young man croaked.

Lizzie smiled again, went over to her friend, Monica, and gave her a hug. When she swept by Adam, she said, "I'll text you later. Bye."

Casey, on one side of her, offered his arm to Lizzie while on the other, Chuck did the same. Every eye in the room was on the trio as she slipped her hands into the crooks of their proffered arms and watched as they, together, headed for the door.

~ O ~

They sat together, aunt and niece, cross-legged on the bed. A carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream—which an hour before had been unopened and untouched—now sat empty on Lizzie's desk. Sarah fingered the black ear of the worn and well-loved small stuffed dog that lived on Lizzie's bed. Chuck had mentioned to her once that every other stuffed animal of Lizzie's had over the years migrated to her sisters' rooms, except the dog with the black ears. He had been a Christmas present from Ellie and Devon when she was four. She had once confided to Sarah that the little stuffed dog had been told more of her secrets than anyone else in the world.

Sarah sat quietly and waited as her niece snatched another tissue from the box, dabbed at her puffy and red-rimmed eyes and then wiped her nose. The wet tissue was wadded up and tossed onto a growing mound. Next to the pile sat a half-eaten container of Nutella, the handle of the spoon sticking out of the top of the jar.

When Lizzie had first arrived home, she was surprisingly poised. She had thanked Chuck and Casey profusely for coming to her rescue and hugged them both tightly before going upstairs to her room. Prompted by a hopeful glance from her, Sarah's inquiry as to whether or not the teen wanted company was met with a heartfelt smile.

As Sarah had removed the hairpins from her niece's hair and brushed it out, Lizzie's eyes had sparked and flashed with fury as she relayed some of the details of what had transpired during the evening. She had felt tears prick in her own eyes as she watched the anger in Lizzie's subside, only to be replaced by embarrassment, shame and sadness. Then the words had stopped and the tears had begun to flow.

The blue formal dress was carefully hung up and replaced by a tank top and flannel pants. When her dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail and all of her makeup removed, Sarah was reminded of how young and vulnerable her niece really was and how cruel the world could be.

Eventually, the torrent of tears had subsided and Lizzie seemed to be regaining her composure. "I thought he really liked me," she said dully, her voice ragged and her nose stuffy.

"I'm sure he did. I don't think he would have asked you to the prom if he didn't," Sarah answered gently. "I think the problem is that he didn't respect you."

"I'm such an idiot for not realizing he was drinking."

"You're not an idiot. He did it without you knowing. That's not your fault."

"I guess," she shrugged. "There were a few times when he went off with his friends. He must have been doing it then. I just figured he wanted to hang out with them some of the time. I didn't want to ditch Monica and Roy, so…" Heaving a sigh, she said, "Now I understand why he was being so handsy and aggressive the longer the prom went on."

It was a good thing Sarah hadn't been at the prom. She would have throttled the little jerk. "You did the right thing by flipping him."

"It all happened so fast. He kept coming after me and putting his hands on me. It made me uncomfortable, so I kept pushing him away and telling him to stop. At the beginning, he was acting goofy and more like he was just teasing. After a while, he started getting mad." She stopped, took a deep breath and looked at Sarah. "I remembered what you and I had talked about —about how to read people. I could see he was really angry and I knew if I didn't do something…" Sarah saw the resolve on Lizzie's face when she continued, "So when he grabbed my wrist, I got out of it like you taught us and then flipped him over my shoulder." Her eyes flashed at the memory. "He's lucky I didn't break his nose," she said with a hint of pride.

"That he is. He's also lucky Casey didn't break every bone in his body." _I would have liked to have seen that, actually_.

Lizzie chuckled. "You should have seen the way Brock's friends took off when Uncle Casey went to talk to them. One of them looked like he was about to wet his pants."

"I'm not surprised," Sarah chuckled. "He's an intimidating guy. It's part of his charm."

In the quiet moment that followed, Lizzie's small smile disappeared. "I liked him, too." Sheepishly, she added, "Or at least I thought I did. And also? Boys are tools."

"Now wait a minute. Not all boys. Some of them are okay. Look at your brothers. Turns out Fred was right about Brock and was looking out for you in his own Fred-like way the whole time."

Lizzie nodded. "You're right. I'll have to admit to him that he was right." She huffed out an exasperated breath but wore a wry smile. "He's never going to let me live that down."

"Maybe not, but isn't it nice to know he's got your back?" Sarah asked, eyebrows raised.

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right. It is. So now I go back to being a nerd with no friends," Lizzie sighed.

"Okay, back up. Don't be talking bad about nerds," Sarah teased. "I happen to be married to one, so watch it." She was pleased to see a smile reach Lizzie's eyes for the first time since she had come home. "And as for no friends, I hear that's probably not going to be an issue."

Lizzie grabbed the spoon from the Nutella jar and licked at the dark, sweet spread. "What makes you say that?"

"Uncle Chuck texted me when you were on your way home to let me know you were okay. He mentioned a couple of things. First, the principal said there are some girls who want you to teach them self-defense."

"Um, yeah," Lizzie said, dipping her head. "I was kinda hoping you could help me with that."

"I'd be happy to." She arched an eyebrow. "I also heard that there was a boy who stayed with you after the incident with Brock."

A tiny smile curled and Lizzie became a little bashful. "Yeah, that's Adam. He's really nice."

"I hope he didn't ditch his date to hang out with you."

"No, he didn't have one. He was there because he's on the prom committee." She frowned. "Some people teased him about it and called him a nerd."

"Brock and his friends?"

"Yeah. I'm so embarrassed I ever hung out with them."

"Don't worry about it. We all have people in our past we wish we hadn't associated with."

"Really? You have people in your past like that?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Care to share?"

Sarah shook her head. She didn't ever want to revisit those experiences. "There's no need. It was a lifetime ago." A thought struck her. "Do you remember one of our first talks, when we talked about Wolf and you asked me if I'd ever been in love?"

Lizzie licked the spoon again and then stuck it back in the jar. "You said you thought you had, but then later realized you really hadn't."

"It wasn't until I met your uncle that I knew what it was to really be in love. You may have to go through a bunch of losers—guys like Brock—before you find a winner. Knowing what you don't want in a guy is just as important as learning what you do." With a gentle finger, she poked at Lizzie's knee. "It might feel pretty bad right now, but you'll learn a lot from this."

"If you say so." Lizzie grabbed her pillow, dropped it on her lap and hugged it. "There's something else I remember about that first talk of ours."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"It wasn't, um, easy for you to talk about yourself."

"Who, me?" she said with a chuckle. "Not able to talk about my feelings?" Putting her thumb and forefinger millimeters apart from each other, she said, "Okay, maybe I was a _little bit_ uncomfortable."

Lizzie giggled. "Maybe just a little." Sobering, she said shyly, "I'm glad I have somebody to talk to about stuff like this."

Sarah's eyes suddenly burned. "Me too, sweetie. I can't imagine not sitting here with you right now." Her fingers began work the dog's ear again, a whisper of nerves setting upon her as a thought overtook her mind. She had been thinking about bringing this topic up with Lizzie ever since she and Chuck had heard back from the lawyer concerning her adoption of the kids. She didn't know if this was the best time to bring it up, but she decided to go ahead.

Ignoring the way her mouth had just dried, she started tentatively, "I… I always want to be here for you." The happy smile on Lizzie's face gave her reason to press on. "I want to…" _This is it._ "I want to adopt you and your brothers and sisters. I need consent from all of you who are older than twelve and I thought I would ask you first since you're the oldest." Now that she had started, the words tumbled quickly from her mouth. "I know you're seventeen and you'll be a legal adult in less than a year, but I was hoping that you might still consider…" The rest of her words died on her lips and her tentativeness slipped away when she saw a grin light up Lizzie's face.

"Really?" Lizzie asked. "You want to take us all on?"

Sarah laughed. "I think that question was answered before I even married your uncle." Sobering, she said, "I want to make it formal and legal. I realized it was something I wanted, no, I needed to do when we started the process to get passports for you kids. Only a legal guardian or parent can sign the applications and I'm neither."

"I noticed that when we went to the post office. Uncle Chuck showed them some paperwork and signed everything. You didn't."

She'd felt so frustrated that day, being so impotent when it came to the legal wellbeing of the children. Those feelings of aggravation simply reinforced to her that she was doing the right thing in needing to adopt them. "Well, that will change if it's okay with you."

"It's okay with me," Lizzie replied lightly. "I remember having a similar conversation with Uncle Chuck a few years ago. Where do I sign?"

A thrill shot through Sarah as she gave her niece a hug. She couldn't stop the huge sigh of relief.

Lizzie giggled at the gust of air. "You didn't think I would say no, did you?"

Leaning back, Sarah popped a shoulder and answered, "I wasn't sure. You're almost eighteen…" Sarah had been on her own for a while by the time she was the same age as Lizzie was now. "I thought maybe you would want less parents at your age than more."

"Aunt Sarah," came the patient reply, "most people have parents way beyond their eighteenth birthday. I'd like to be one of them."

"You're a pretty smart kid, you know that?" Sarah asked with a grin.

"I know," her niece sang with mock superiority.

"I still need to talk to the rest of the kids. I assume they'll be okay with it, too."

Lizzie rolled her eyes and sighed, "Duh."

"Roll your eyes at me all you want, but I still have to get consent from Fred and Lisa," she said, a hint of laughter in her voice. "Then we'll get the paperwork going."

A "bling" sounded. Lizzie tipped the phone toward her and glanced at the screen. Sarah noticed a twinkle in Lizzie's eyes as she read the text. With thumbs racing over the screen, she sent a response.

"I take it that wasn't Brock."

"No, that was Adam. He wanted to make sure I'm okay."

"Are you?"

"Thanks to you and Uncle Chuck and Uncle Casey—and Adam—I'm more than okay."

Sarah leaned over and kissed Lizzie's cheek. "I'm glad." She slid off the bed, grabbed the empty carton of ice cream off the desk and opened the door. "Don't stay up too late texting."

Lizzie flashed a grin. "Fiiiine. I'll do what you say even if you aren't my legal parent," she teased.

"This 'not-legal-parent-for-only-a-short-time-longer' thanks you," she answered, bowing slightly. As she left the bedroom, she turned and said with quiet affection, "Good night, sweetie."

Given the events what had taken place at the prom and the turmoil it had caused, Sarah was both pleased and relieved when she saw nothing but happiness and contentment on her eldest's face, "Good night, Aunt Sarah."

~ O ~

The pen dropped to the lined notepad with a light _thunk_. Leaning back in her chair as she sat at the kitchen table, Sarah pushed her hands through her hair and stretched her back and shoulders. She had spent the last twenty minutes crossing off and adding items to her to-do list. Glancing down at the scribbles on the yellow paper, she sighed when she noted that she had added more things to the bottom of the list than she had scratched off at the top. However, there was one thing off the list that relieved her greatly and one item she was extremely happy to add.

Her most recent addition to the list was to make sure the older kids signed the consent to adoption forms before they left on their trip. After getting enthusiastic approval from Lizzie, Sarah couldn't wait to speak to the rest of the kids, so she made a point to talk to them the day after the prom. Even though she only needed official consent from two of them, she wanted to speak to all of them about it regardless.

Lizzie had been right in saying the rest of the kids would be more than ecstatic when informed of Sarah's intention to legally adopt them. Her talk with the boys in their room after breakfast had evoked classic reactions from Fred and Curtis: huge grins, hollers of "woohoo" and high fives shared amongst the three of them. After her success with the boys, she found Bridget, Martie and Megan in the TV room watching a movie. Their responses had been as exuberant as their brothers', only crushing hugs and tears had replaced the high fives.

In the end, it was Lisa's reaction she had been most concerned about. It wasn't that Sarah thought Lisa would refuse to consent to the adoption. She was pretty sure she would be okay with it. It was that Sarah knew that she could never completely fill the void in Lisa's life left by the deaths of Ellie and Devon. She hoped, however, that this final step would go a long way to help Lisa finally feel a sense of stability Sarah knew the girl craved. As they spoke, Sarah found herself blinking back tears when an unguarded smile grew on Lisa's face. It was as if she had been waiting for Sarah to take the step. There was a sparkle in her niece's eyes she had never seen before.

Those conversations with the kids had been two weeks ago. Yesterday, she and Chuck had picked up from the lawyer the consent forms to be signed, hence the addition to the list.

The arrival of eight newly minted passports in the mail was cause for celebration, relief and one more thing crossed off the list. A passport issued to Sarah Bartowski—a chill shot through her when she saw the passport with her real name—had previously been sent to her, expedited through the Agency. This allowed her to have two passports: Sarah Bartowski's to be used when she was with the family and Sarah Walker's if needed during missions. They had immediately sent proof to Buy More corporate that all of their travel documents were in order and were now awaiting the final itinerary to be e-mailed. She sighed again, knowing that its receipt would somehow trigger more items to be added to her ever-changing list.

_At least I'm not having to re-learn that_, she thought as her gaze drifted from her own scribbles to Lizzie's paper covered with formulas and equations. With books spread out before her, the girl's head was bent low over the table and her writing was fast and furious as she studied for her upcoming chemistry final.

Across the table, his side equally strewn with books and papers, Fred stabbed a finger at the buttons of his graphing calculator as he prepared for his geometry final. He huffed an irritated yet determined breath, muttered something about "the tangent," poked at the clear button a half dozen times and then renewed his battle.

Pulling her thoughts back to her list, she was jotting down a reminder to speak with Casey about transporting their weapons when Chuck sauntered into the kitchen, his eyes scanning over several pieces of paper in his hand.

"Buy More corporate just sent me the final itinerary," he said, holding up the papers for Sarah to see. "They have our schedule mapped out pretty much to the hour. The only thing I can't figure out is what these red half-hour blocks are for after some of the sights like the Eiffel Tower."

Sarah stood and looked at the schedule as he pointed out to her the block to which he was referring. Her brow knit and she said, "The color legend says red is for PDA. What does—"

"Public displays of affection," Lizzie interrupted, not taking her eyes off the textbook she was reading.

"Huh? What? Who…?" Chuck spluttered.

Lizzie sighed and looked up, "Public displays of affection time for you and Aunt Sarah. I called Uncle Morgan and he had Buy More corporate add that in."

Chuck's eyes grew larger. "You actually called… Why would you… That's not nec—"

"Oh, please," their niece scoffed. "You and Aunt Sarah can hardly keep your hands off each other when we go for a walk in the park."

"Don't forget the bowling alley and movie theater incidents," Fred supplied.

"Right," Lizzie continued. "What do you think is going to happen when we get to romantic places like the Eiffel Tower or the Trevi Fountain? This way, Uncle Casey and Uncle Morgan can watch over us during those times and you and Aunt Sarah can do…" she circled a hand nebulously in the air, "what you have to do."

Sarah peered at Lizzie, who was once again ignoring them and turning a page of her textbook. "They're right, you know," she admitted to her husband.

Chuck's cheeks pinked. "Yeah, but does all of Buy More corporate have to know about it?"

Narrowing her eyes at him, one corner of her mouth quirked up. "So, you're going to call corporate and have them take those times out then?" she asked in a husky voice.

"Nononono! That's totally not necessary," he replied in a panic. "I mean, they already went to all that work to accommodate us." He waggled his eyebrows and then snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close. "I'd really hate to make them change everything back…"

Sarah took the papers from Chuck and examined them more closely. "Mm-hmm, mm-hmm," she murmured to herself. "Oooooo," she purred, her eyes lighting up when she pointed out one of the entries to him. Raising herself on her tiptoes, she whispered something into her husband's ear. In response, his whole body jerked and his eyes glazed over.

After snatching the writing pad off the table, Sarah took her still unresponsive husband by the hand and led him from the room. "Good call on the schedule, Lizzie," Sarah called out over her shoulder.

Without looking up, Lizzie called out, "Glad to help!" Fred's snort trailed out behind them.

_This could turn out to be a pretty good trip_, she thought as her still unfocused husband stumbled along behind her.

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: I will not be posting next Thursday, July 5th. My family and I will be on vacation all of next week. When I come back from my trip, the Bartowski/Woodcomb clan will be going on theirs.


	15. Across the Pond

**A/N: **Welcome back! In this exciting chapter, the family goes on a trip where Greg wears a cursed tiki idol around his neck and gets clunked on the head by his surfboard. Will he survive? Meanwhile, Alice learns to hula and wears a grass skirt. Hmm? Oh, sorry. My misspent youth is showing.

I want to thank everyone for reading, reviewing, tweeting, etc. The response to this story has been so wonderful. I am touched, pleased and amazed. The previous chapter (the prom) seems to have touched many of you. So, to all you dads/uncles/brothers who love, cherish and protect your daughters/nieces/sisters, you rock! And to all you Lizzie's out there who don't take crap from guys like Brock, you rock even harder. (I know. My kid would be rolling her eyes at me right now. I'm okay with that.)

You know who else rocks? You know him! That's right, **AgentInWaiting**. This chapter has many words, some of which were used incorrectly, spelled wrong or otherwise in need of vast amounts of attention. Seriously, he did epic work on this chapter and deserves a round of applause.

Without further ado…

**Chapter 15 – Across the Pond**

The lights in the cabin of the airplane were dimmed, allowing passengers to sleep. Other than the constant hum of the plane's engines as it winged its way through the night sky, it was quiet. Sarah had managed to doze for a short while, but deep sleep had as yet eluded her. Despite trying to keep them closed, her eyes drifted open. Yawning, she lifted her head from Chuck's shoulder and glanced around. Her husband breathed deeply through parted lips, a tiny pillow wedged between his head and the window. She was glad he was able to sleep despite the cramped space he occupied. There just wasn't enough room for his long legs, so his knees were jammed against the seat in front of him. She had tried to talk him into upgrading to one of the higher classes to gain more legroom, but he had refused. He had stated in no uncertain terms that unless the whole family could be upgraded—which wasn't possible since there weren't enough seats available—he wouldn't sit anywhere else.

In the seat on the other side of her, Megan lay curled up on her side, her head resting on Sarah's lap. She was relieved to see the rhythmic rise and fall of the little one's breathing. Megan could be a bit of a bear when she didn't get enough sleep and with the travel and time change, any amount of sleep would help to combat a foul temper later.

In the row in front of her, she could see Fred's head leaning against the bulkhead just like Chuck's did. She couldn't see Bridget, but she knew she sat directly in front of her and Lisa was in front of Megan. Not wanting to take a chance and awaken the one asleep on her lap, she dared not turn around to ensure that Lizzie, Martie, and Curtis were still directly behind them. She silently chided herself for worrying so much. Where would they go? Nor did she make any attempt to locate Agents Vegas and Barstow on the flight. Director Graham, while impressed with how well both teams had comported themselves during their time in Colorado protecting the family, had decided to send Vegas and Barstow on the trip while Cole and Barker would return to Washington for the time the Bartowski/Woodcomb clan was away.

What she could see without fear of disturbing Megan—and had the added bonus of amusing her greatly—was what was going on in the seats directly across the aisle from her. Casey, his eyes closed and his fingers laced across his stomach, rested with the back of his seat reclining as far as it would allow. His face wore a perpetual grimace as he snapped his shoulder every few minutes to move Morgan's head off of it. The bearded man's head would loll to the other side and then inevitably find its way back to Casey's shoulder. The indulgent look the flight attendant gave the two men when she walked by forced Sarah choke down a giggle.

Yawning again, she managed to sneak a peek at her watch. It was almost one o'clock in the morning, Denver time, and they had been in the air for nearly four hours. They were almost half way to London, the first stop on their grand European tour. Knowing she needed more sleep to face what lay ahead, returned her head to her husband's shoulder and eventually succumbed to slumber.

~ O ~

So far, the "team system" was working pretty well as a way to keep track of the kids, especially when they all went through passport control at Heathrow. Sarah and Megan had gone through first, with Chuck showing proof that he was Megan's legal parent. While Chuck stayed at the podium as each child was processed, Sarah and Megan remained off to one side and Morgan and Casey stood guard at the rear. Per Sarah's instructions, the older of the two kids on the team would be processed first and then wait for the younger. Once both were done, they would go together to meet up with her. Some might have thought her paranoid, but she wanted it drilled into the kids' heads that they should keep track of their partner whenever they went anywhere.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they arrived at their hotel at the edge of Green Park in central London. Chuck, Sarah, and Megan had their bags unloaded in a room while the other four girls' bags were dropped off in the adjoining room. Morgan, Fred and Curtis shared a third room. Casey had his own room, which everyone agreed was a good idea. He shared it with his weapons and spy gear. When Chuck asked Sarah where Agents Vegas and Barstow were staying, she pointed to a room just down the hallway, replying that they had checked in earlier. As the agents were to be acting as advance scouts, separate from the family, their goal was to fade into the background.

The kids were tired, hungry and hyper with excitement. Chuck and Sarah realized that they needed to do something before there were any broken bones, bloody noses or shoulder flipping, so the whole crew walked from their hotel to the closest restaurant. It was a little too early in the day to be very crowded, so they got a large table without any trouble.

Following an informative conversation where Sarah explained the difference between "sparkling" and "still" water to the kids, food orders were given and they got down to business. Chuck retrieved a folded up piece of paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. After consulting the itinerary before him he said, "The tournament here in London is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. I guess they thought we needed our first day here to get over our jet lag. They don't have anything specific filled in for us tomorrow, so we're free to decide what we want to do."

"We won't be here more than a few days, so we need to make it something worthwhile," Sarah added.

"I want to go visit the Queen," Martie piped up.

Sarah gave her an affectionate smile. "That would be really fun, and I'm sure she would be charmed to meet you, but you can't just pop in to meet the Queen." The little girl slumped with disappointment.

"How about going to the British Library? I read that it has Jane Austen's writing desk there. I'd love to see it," Bridget said hopefully.

Both boys groaned. "Why would anyone want to go to a _library_ on _purpose_?" Fred asked, incredulity dripping from each word. Bridget made a face at her brother in response.

"How about one of those ghost tours that takes you to all kinds of haunted and spooky places," Curtis said, bouncing slightly in his chair.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Lisa said, scowling at him and then tipping her head toward their youngest sisters. "I'm sure _they'd love_ that."

"Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross station?" Fred ventured. Looking at their startled faces, he scowled and said defensively, "What? I read."

"Westminster Abbey?" Morgan suggested.

"Nah," Casey said, "I've been there. Mostly just dead people." Megan's eyes grew wide.

"Thanks for that, Casey," Sarah said with a chuckle. Addressing Megan, she said, "It's a wonderful, really old church where a lot of kings, queens and famous people are buried. It's actually really interesting." Judging by their reactions, the kids weren't convinced.

Their waitress, who had introduced herself as Amy when she had first appeared and taken their orders, approached the table and said tentatively, "I hope you don't mind, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation." She looked over at the only other occupied table—a young couple who didn't seem to notice that anyone else in the world existed—and continued, "It's a bit slow in here right now. Anyway, might I suggest you all go to the Tower of London? There're suits of armor and the like. And the Crown Jewels." The young woman smiled. "Something for everyone."

Nods and looks of approval passed around the table. "Looks like we're decided then," Chuck said happily and turned to the waitress. "Thanks for the tip."

Smiling at the kids, Sarah did a double take when she noticed Fred's change in demeanor. His pupils were dilated, and he seemed to dare not move as he stared with open admiration at the young waitress. _Poor kid._ _He looks like he's just been zapped by a stun gun._

Hiding her smirk, Sarah looked up at the waitress who stood relaxed next to Chuck, her hand resting on the back of his chair. "Do I hear a bit of a Scottish accent?" Sarah asked her. Taking a closer look at the young woman, she saw that the girl was a classic Gaelic beauty with hazel-green eyes and a light, creamy complexion. Her long, red hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail and her smile quick and warm. She could see why Fred was so smitten.

"Aye, 'at yeh do," Amy said with a laugh, allowing her brogue to thicken. "Yeh have a good ear," she went on, instantly charming her. While Sarah really wanted to see Fred's reaction to the girl's speech, she didn't want to draw attention to his nearly catatonic state. She was pretty sure his heart was beating like a rabbit's. _I just hope he doesn't fall out of his chair_.

Eyes dancing, Amy dropped the heavy accent and continued, "I'm from Inverness, but living with relatives and working here in London during the summer to make some money. I'll go back to Scotland in the fall to study for my Highers. I hope to go to the University of Edinburgh after that."

"Impressive," Chuck said. "Good luck."

"Thank you." Amy looked over the large group and her eyes clouded with the inevitable question. "Are all these kids yours, then?"

Chuck moved his hand and laid it on top of Sarah's. "They are," he answered.

"Oi!" Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You must've been just kids yourself when you had the first one."

"Something like that," Sarah answered with a smile for the young woman. At times like this, she and Chuck found it easier to simply say that the kids were theirs—because they were—and not go into the details.

"What about the big one and the one with the beard. Are they a couple, too, then?" she asked, dipping her head toward the pair at the other end of the table.

Sarah felt a flutter of laughter burble in her chest. Chuck apparently was having the same reaction as he squeezed her hand. Flicking her eyes at him, she could see him literally biting his lower lip. "Oh, they're a _couple_ all right," she answered with a grin.

"I thought so," came the knowing reply. "Opposites attract, yeh?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Sarah could only respond with, "Mm-hmm."

"Are you here on holiday?"

"In a way, yes. We're here to help with the grand opening of an American electronics store, Buy More," Chuck answered. "Our family is going to play in a video game tournament the store is hosting."

"The _Call of Duty _one?" Amy asked excitedly. "On Tottenham Court Road?"

Sarah nodded. "That's the one. You know about it?"

"I'm on one of the teams," she said excitedly.

"That's great! It'll be nice to see a friendly face," Chuck said.

"You'll remember that when I toss a grenade or two your way, yeh?" the redhead teased. Glancing over her shoulder toward the kitchen, she continued, "Let me go see if your food's ready. I'll be back in a few."

Once their waitress had disappeared into the kitchen, Sarah murmured to Chuck in a low voice, "Look at Fred."

"I noticed it, too," he replied with a small smile. "It looks like someone stunned him with an electric cattle prod."

"I was thinking taser, but cattle prod works, too." Considering her nephew, she asked, "Is he going to be okay?"

"Oh, sure. He'll snap out of it eventually. He's just a little stunned. Kinda like the way I feel around you sometimes," he said with a sly grin.

"You're sweet," she said, leaning in and giving him a kiss.

"Well, that didn't take long," Lizzie called out with a laugh. "Hey, you two! I don't think this PDA is on the schedule."

Breaking the kiss and leaning back in his chair, Chuck responded with a twinkle in his eyes, "It never said we _can't_ have PDA at other times. I believe it means that during those red blocks of time, we _have to_ engage in public displays of affection. Right, honey?"

"That's my reading of it, yes," she responded straight-faced.

Lizzie sighed dramatically and dragged a hand across her face. "It's gonna be a looooong trip."

As the laughter died down, Amy returned from the kitchen, juggling plates of food, and placed them in front of the appropriate diner. After two more trips, everyone had their meal and began eating, all except Megan, who stared at hers. "Aunt Sarah?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"You said my food would come with chips. These are fries," she said, clearly confused. Despite her puzzlement, she picked up a fry and munched on it.

"That's what they usually call fries here. Chips."

The little girl's brow furrowed. "Then do they have potato chips here?"

"Yup. They call them crisps," Sarah answered before popping a bite of fish in her mouth.

"Why are there different words for the same thing?" the little girl questioned.

Raising a shoulder, Sarah answered, "I don't know. There are lots of words that are different."

"Like what?" Megan now was eating her fish and chips with gusto.

Resting her fork on her plate, Sarah dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Let's see. What we call an apartment, they call a flat. For us it's an elevator, for them, it's a lift."

"Cool!" Megan exclaimed. "I want to learn all the different words!"

Sarah smiled at her enthusiasm. "Well, keep your ears open and I'm sure you'll learn a bunch of them."

"We can write them down, Megan," Bridget called across the table. "We'll make our own dictionary."

The little girl squirmed in her seat with excitement and then grinned at her sister.

"You okay there, sport?" Casey goaded Fred from the other end of the table.

The food placed in front of Fred had drawn him from his dazed state. Around the mouthful of burger, he said, "Our waitress is nice."

"Don't you think she's a little too old for you?" Lisa asked with a sly smirk.

He grinned, "Nah, she's only a year or two older than me. And I'll totally win her over when I go to the University of Edinburgh."

Chuck choked and coughed into the glass raised to his lips. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he said, "Dude, that's news to me."

"I've been thinking about maybe being a doctor like Dad was." His grin never wavering, he asked, "Do you think Amy would want to go out with a doctor?"

~ O ~

Sarah sat on one of the wooden chairs on the right side of the small chapel with Megan nestled on her lap to give one more person room to sit. At least that was the excuse she whispered in the little girl's ear as she lifted her from her chair. The truth was, Sarah saw her flinch when the Yeoman Warder pointed to the place where the remains of a headless Anne Boleyn had been found under the floor of St. Peter's ad Vincula. The chapel in which they now sat was where the remains of some of the Tower's most "notorious" occupants—having met their demise at the hands of an executioner on the nearby Tower Green—were quickly disposed of.

The Yeoman Warder, or "Beefeater" had led them on the tour around the Tower of London complex for nearly an hour, regaling them with stories and history of the place. The Yeoman clearly enjoyed his job, as his booming voice and quick wit kept them all enthralled as he fairly "chewed the scenery." Sarah recognized his deep affection for the Tower and the satisfaction he felt in imparting his knowledge to others. More than anything, though, she saw the unmistakable pride he had in serving his "boss" and the honor in wearing the dark blue tunic with the red trim and the big red crown and "ER" emblazoned on his chest.

Once they were outside the chapel and could speak freely, Megan asked with concern, "Do they still chop people's heads off?"

Before Sarah could answer, Fred wiggled his fingers at his sister and growled, "Only the heads of six-year-old American girls with six older brothers and sisters."

"Thanks, Fred," Sarah sighed as she looked down to find Megan's arms wrapped around her leg and squeezing it tightly, as if she was afraid she would be physically torn away from Sarah's side. "No, sweetie, they don't. That happened a long time ago."

As soon as Megan's hold on Sarah relaxed, Chuck scooped the little girl up, set her on his shoulders and held tightly onto her ankles. The distraction worked. Megan, now grinning with delight, tucked her hands under his chin and crowed, "I'm taller than Uncle Casey!"

"Yeah, well, squirt, if I were sitting on Casey's shoulders, then I would be even taller than you!" Morgan teased back.

Casey shot him a disgusted look. "Why would you even say something like that?" he hissed, causing the whole group to laugh. "I'm just here for the weapons," he grumbled.

"Since we're right here, we should go see the Crown Jewels," Sarah said, pointing at the entrance to the Jewel House.

"But I'm hungry," Curtis groused.

Lisa rolled her eyes, "We just ate, like, two hours ago."

"So? I'm still hungry."

Ruffling Curtis' hair, Sarah said, "How about we get ice cream when we're done in the Jewel House?" The morning had started off grey and drizzly, but during their tour with the Yeoman Warder, the sun had come out and the air had warmed. She was pretty sure all would appreciate ice cream.

Suddenly, Curtis was more than anxious to go see the Crown Jewels.

"Well played, Mrs. Bartowski," Chuck whispered in her ear.

"Bribery will get you everywhere, Mr. Bartowski," she answered with a knowing smile.

"Then we go see the armor?" Casey asked.

"Yes," Chuck responded, "but only if you eat all your ice cream."

"Fiiiiine," the big man sighed, eliciting the loudest giggle from Martie.

They snaked through the queue that wrapped back and forth through rooms as they waited to enter the main room where the jewels were displayed. On one of the walls, a video loop of the Queen's coronation played. Sarah was actually pretty excited about seeing the jewels and had immensely enjoyed their time so far at the Tower. As many times as she had been to London, those times had always been related to a mission, leaving no room for sightseeing. Even so, the agent side of her was always alert, especially since she was without any of her weapons. There was no way either she or Casey would pass through security with their usual personal arsenals, so they both had left all their weapons with Agents Vegas and Barstow in a nearby van just outside the fortress walls.

As they stepped into the room where the jewels were kept, she was immediately impressed, but frankly not surprised, at the security surrounding them. A huge, thick metal vault door stood open allowing them to enter. It looked to Sarah to be impenetrable. Several guards milled around the cases, keeping close watch on those in the room. Without moving her head, she glanced around ceiling of the room, looking for signs of where the security cameras were installed. She was sure the display cases were wired and assumed they were made of some kind of impenetrable polymer. She was impressed. If "Chewbacca's" security had been anywhere as good as this, she and Carina would never have come close to the diamond.

The security measures in the room were pushed from her mind, however, when she stepped onto the moving walkway that took them past the display cases. Under thick glass and sitting on pillows of red velvet trimmed with gold cord, was the most astounding collection of jewels she had ever seen. When they reached the end of the moving belt, the girls instantly complained that they went by too fast. While the boys wandered around, looking at the rest of the displays, Chuck, Sarah and all the girls went up several steps to a raised platform against the wall where they could stand and look at the jewels again. They weren't as close as they had been the moment before, but they could now spend a little more time looking at them.

"That's some pretty serious bling," Chuck said, holding Martie up so she could see over the railing.

Sarah lifted Megan and set her on her hip so that she too could see. "It sure is," Sarah replied quietly.

"Look at the diamond in the scepter," Bridget marveled, her eyes shining. "It's the size of an egg!"

"There are a bunch of huge diamonds," Lizzie pointed out. "There are some big sapphires and rubies, too."

"Aunt Sarah? Is the diamond you took from Peyton Hawaii as big as the one on the long stick over there?" Martie asked, pointing toward the case containing the scepter.

Chuck and the other girls stared at Sarah with interest. "Do you have something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?" Chuck inquired with a small smile.

"It's a long story. I'd be happy to share it with you when we're not in a vault with the world's most famous jewels." To make her point, she eyed the numerous guards stationed around the room. Dropping her voice to just above a whisper, she replied to Martie, "And no, it wasn't as big, but it was still pretty big."

The little girl's eyes shone with appreciation.

Lisa rested her elbows on the top of the rail and leaned forward. "I bet those crowns are heavy to wear."

"You're probably right," Chuck replied. Cutting a sly glance at Sarah, he murmured, "I'm feeling a bit inadequate right now. The diamond I gave you isn't the size of a golf ball."

Setting Megan on her feet, Sarah replied as they stepped down the stairs to catch up with the guys, "Trust me, sweetie, you have _nothing_ to feel inadequate about."

Chuck blushed red, even as a pleased grin spread across his face. Although the comment was hardly above a whisper, Sarah heard Lizzie mutter, "Ew, TMI."

Upon seeing the girls, Fred narrowed his eyes at the disgusted face of his older sister and tipped his head in question. She, in response, rolled her eyes and jerked her head toward their uncle and aunt. Fred smirked and shook his head in response. As a family, they stepped out the exit and into the sunlight of the inner ward.

After getting their ice cream cones, they sat on the grass or on benches that were placed along the gravel covered pathways that bordered the White Tower, the oldest building in the complex and built by William the Conqueror. The large stone building was in the shape of a square with four towers at each corner. A red, white and blue Union Jack fluttered in the breeze, attached to a flagpole centered between the two western towers of the keep.

When the cones were consumed, the group got up and wandered into and through the interior of the White Tower until they reached the floor where some of the Royal Armor was on exhibit. As they wandered from display to display, Sarah noticed Martie constantly frowning as she read the placards. "What's wrong, Martie?"

Her niece looked up at her and pointed at the text she had been reading. "Some of these words are spelled wrong. Like 'armor'. It has an extra 'u' in it."

Sarah smiled and said, "They spell some words differently here. In fact, if you ask them, they'd say that we spell our words wrong."

Martie scrunched up her nose and gave her a doubtful look. "But it's all English. So who's right?"

Before Sarah could come up with an appropriate answer, Casey spoke up, "_We_ are. We tossed out those extra u's when we tossed out the British on their as-behinds in 1783. Both of them were equally useless."

Casey's declaration was met by silence. Chuck looked around and weakly grinned at the other visitors staring at them. "Don't mind him, folks. He's from Texas."

Casey scowled, "Bartowski, I'm not from–"

"It doesn't matter, Casey," Chuck interrupted. "They'll understand that explanation."

Indeed, the other patrons had continued on with their visit, nodding as they went. International crisis averted, the family resumed the tour and eventually all the kids were clustered in front of one particular case. Sarah decided to join them and check it out.

Looming before them was a massive suit of armor, the size of which indicated that the man who wore it had been burly. Chuck wandered over next to her. Upon glancing at the suit, he exclaimed, "Hiyo!" His surprise launched a round of snickers.

"Aunt Sarah?"

_Oh boy. Here we go_. "Yes, Megan?"

"Why does the armor have _that_ sticking out of it?" she asked, pointing.

"Take it away, sweetie," Chuck whispered unhelpfully in her ear.

Hip checking him, she replied quietly, "Thanks." Deciding to stay as noncommittal and "historical" as possible, she answered, "It's called a 'codpiece'. It was kind of fashionable for men to wear them at the time this armor was made."

Megan scowled and scratched her head. "Isn't cod a kind of fish? Does he keep fish in there?"

_This conversation is derailing fast_. Searching the faces of the rest of the group, she found no help. If anything, their smirks told her that they were enjoying watching her twist in the wind.

"No, not fish," she answered. "The king who wore this was trying to look intimidating or scary to his enemy."

"How would that thing do that?" Martie asked, now part of the inquisition.

_Time for distraction_. "You know? I think now would be a great time for us to go over here," Sarah said, completely ignoring the current line of questioning. Taking the two littlest ones by their hands, she walked them to the next large display case and asked, "Did you see the armor this horse is wearing?"

"Chicken!" she heard Lisa call out with a laugh.

From over her shoulder, Sarah made a face and answered, "You bet I am!"

Her distraction worked as the girls chattered on about how heavy it must have been for the horse to not only wear its own armor but to have carry the fat armor-clad king as well.

Joining the group in front of the other case, Casey thumbed over his shoulder and started, "I just saw some excellent old firearms over—" He stopped short when he looked at the armor.

"That's pretty much everyone's reaction, Uncle Casey," Lizzie giggled.

Morgan, the last to join the group, rubbed a hand over his beard and said thoughtfully, "I'm not so sure I'd want to, um, lead with that if I was charging into battle."

"Yeah, 'cause _that's_ the first thing you want someone taking a swing at with one of those spiky ball things on a stick... when it's encased in metal," Fred said wryly. All five guys' faces twisted with knowing grimaces.

Peeking over at her husband, Sarah watched him shake out an exaggerated shudder. "Let's just be happy that particular fashion trend disappeared over four hundred years ago," Chuck said.

The guys nodded thoughtfully as the girls burst out laughing. "I think we're all happy about that," Lisa said, as they left the display case and joined Sarah and the youngest girls.

"Hey! Maybe when I become a famous, cutting edge fashion designer, I can bring it back," Bridget teased with a grin, her eyes shining.

"NO!" came the resounding response from all five males, causing the laughter to grow.

With the group fully reformed, Chuck asked, "Now what should we do?"

Megan tugged at Sarah's hand. "I'm hungry."

"And my feet hurt," Martie added.

Every kid voiced their agreement with their sisters. Checking her watch, Sarah realized that they had been at the Tower for a good part of the day. She could feel her own hunger growing. "Have we seen everything you wanted to see? Should we eat here and do more later or are we ready to leave?"

Silent glances and slight head nods passed between them. They were ready to leave. Chuck consulted his phone and said, "There's a burger place we can walk to from here. You want to eat there?"

The nodding became more enthusiastic and the decision was made. As they exited the White Tower, Megan was once again on Chuck's shoulders and Martie hitched a ride on Casey's. After a quick stop in the souvenir shop where each child was allowed to buy one small token to remember the Tower—which meant the attempted purchase of a replica of a medieval broadsword was squelched—it was only a few minutes later that they were happily collapsed in chairs around a large table inside the restaurant. The menu written with colorful markers on the large blackboard attached to one wall was consulted. Chuck, Sarah and Fred were elected to take the orders for everyone to the counter. After only a minute of waiting, it was their turn to order.

Chuck smiled at the young man behind the counter and said, "Get ready for a big order."

The young man's eyes widened when he peered around Chuck and saw their full table. "That table over there is yours?"

"That's our table," he answered.

The man behind the counter let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of kids. After you order, I'll be sure to bring you some monkey nuts to eat while you wait for your food."

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw her nephew make a full body jerk. "Fred," she warned under her breath. His eyes were wide, but she saw that he clamped his mouth shut even as his face reddened.

Unsure of what was going on, Chuck snapped his head toward her. Gently resting a hand on his arm, she smiled and replied, "That would be wonderful, thank you. We're all a bit peckish."

She received a smile and knowing nod in return. The orders were given without any further surprises, payment was made and the three returned to their seats. Within a couple of minutes, a server set on their table two baskets of peanuts still in their shells for them to share.

Sarah appreciated Fred's discretion when he looked at the basket, smirked and whispered something into Lizzie's ear. Soon, the secret made its way around the table where it stopped with Casey, who cracked open a shell, popped the contents in his mouth and growled, "I don't want to know." Thankfully, Martie and Megan were sitting on the other side of him and never heard the "secret". _They've had enough of "education" for today_, she thought ruefully.

Chuck slipped an arm behind Sarah and rested it on the back of her chair. Bringing his head close to hers, he asked quietly, "Did you know what they were going to bring us?"

"No," she replied softly. "Just be happy they were peanuts."

"What if they had been real 'monkey nuts'?" he asked with a sly grin.

"Our kids can eat just about anything if it has enough ketchup on it," she responded, eliciting a guffaw and kiss on the temple from her husband.

Once the food was brought to the table, the starving kids dug in, grabbing the burgers and eating with gusto. Sarah paid little attention to the stares coming their way since their large family received them all the time. It wasn't until Bridget kept glancing over at a table with a family of four—the girl about her age and the boy a little younger—that Sarah noticed the young girl's stare was different from what they usually saw. Rather than mild interest, there was surprise and confusion. Bridget, having watched the other girl—and then glancing around at the other diners to see if they were eating in the same way—set her burger on her plate, flipped off the top bun and began eating the remainder of the burger with a knife and fork. Bridget's new "friend" grinned in response, replaced the top bun, picked up the burger with her hands and took a bite.

Chuck, having watched the silent interaction unfold, lifted his water bottle to Sarah in a toast. "To our little diplomat."

She tapped her bottle to his. "Hands across the pond," she answered with a droll smile.

~ O ~

"Yes, Director," Sarah said into the phone held between her ear and shoulder, "I'll be sure to let you know any information I might collect from tonight's meet as soon as possible." As she spoke, she slipped her Smith & Wesson into the waistband at the small of her back and double-checked the knives in the holster strapped to her calf.

"We still have very little information on Benoit's whereabouts and we're counting on you to help get us some fresh intel," the director told her.

_Thank you, Captain Obvious_, she thought, echoing something she had heard Fred say. "Rest assured, Director, you will receive a full report as soon as possible."

"Very well. Good luck," he said and ended the call.

She blew out an irritated breath and tossed the phone onto the bed.

"Mr. Cuddly still just as warm as ever?" Chuck asked, his legs stretched out on the bed as he leaned his back against the headboard.

"Yeah," she sighed, sitting down heavily on the bed. "I hope this meeting gives me something to report back, or Graham's not going to be happy."

Chuck clicked off the television and sat up straighter. "Are you sure you don't need Casey to go with you?"

She nodded. "I'm just going to meet with Harry Chalmers, an old friend from MI-6 who happens to be in London right now."

"Okay," he answered. "You have your gun and knives?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he bounced his eyebrows and said, "I bet most husbands don't ask their wife that question when she's about to leave for work."

"No, probably not," she answered with a snicker. "And yes, dear, I have my gun and knives."

"Good, I know how you don't like to go anywhere without them."

"You know me well," she replied. "What are you going to do while I'm out?"

"I'll get Martie and Megan to bed pretty soon," he answered, looking at the twin-sized mattress on the floor of their room where Megan would sleep. "I'll have Martie go to sleep on our bed and then move her when the rest of the girls settle down."

"Sounds good," she said. She could hear an American sitcom coming from the TV in the girls' room through the door that connected the two rooms. "The boys are with Morgan?"

"Yeah, I checked in on them a few minutes ago. Morgan's flipping papers on his clipboard getting ready for tomorrow and the boys are watching cricket. They seem to be enjoying it even though they have no idea what's going on."

Rising from the bed, she snagged her hotel room card key and some pound notes from the nightstand and stuck them in the back pocket of her jeans. Next, she slid her wedding and engagement rings off her finger and placed them in a small red box for safekeeping. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Chuck watching her intently.

"You know why I'm doing this, right?" she asked, turning to face him and pointing to her bare finger.

Her husband unfurrowed his brow and gave her a small smile. "Embarrassed to go out in public with your tiny diamond after seeing those rocks at the Jewel House today?"

"Seriously, Chuck. I–"

He held up a hand to stop her. "I know. You want to keep Sarah Walker and Sarah Bartowski separate in order to protect me and the kids. I understand that and love you for it." A small pout appeared on his face. "Even though I hate to see your finger naked."

Sarah crossed the room to where he was sitting and pressed a kiss into his curls. "Well, Mr. Bartowski," she whispered, "how about, as compensation, you get to see other parts of me naked when I get back?" She eyed the mattress on the floor. "Well, maybe not _tonight _when I get back. But _soon_."

Stepping back, she grinned when she saw Chuck struggling for words. "Think about that while I say goodbye to the girls." She slipped her arms into a black leather jacket and pulled it on over her white cotton camisole. Opening the door and entering the adjoining room, she said, "I'll see you girls in the morning."

"Good luck, Aunt Sarah," they called back. When she saw Megan jump off the bed, she knelt to receive the incoming hug. "Are you gonna go catch bad guys?" Megan asked, her blue eyes wide with curiosity.

"No, this isn't a mission. This is a meeting to get information. That's all."

Her niece nodded knowingly. "You'll give us a full sitrep in the morning?"

She somehow managed to keep her face serious. Nodding once, she answered, "Promise. You'll get a sitrep."

Megan studied her face and then smiled widely. After giving her another quick hug, she ran and launched herself back onto the bed. As Sarah went back into her own room, there was a knock on the outer door. Opening it, she found Fred standing in the hallway.

"Oh, hi Aunt Sarah, you're leaving now?"

Sarah nodded affirmatively. "I was just about to head out. Everything okay?"

Her nephew nodded back and hesitated. "You'll be, uh, careful?"

Seeing Fred's earnest face, a warm feeling suffused through Sarah. "I'll be careful," she promised and gave him a quick hug. Fred responded with a lopsided grin and a little wave as he headed back to his room.

Closing the door, Sarah turned around and addressed her husband. "Remember, in addition to Casey, Vegas and Barstow are just down the hall in case you need them."

"We'll be fine," he answered, sliding off the bed and taking her in his arms. "You should go. Don't want you to be late for your meet. Be safe. And _hurry back._" He gave her a chaste peck on the lips.

She raised an eyebrow and looked him in the eyes. "That's all you got?" Placing her hands on both sides of his face, she pulled his head down for a deep, heated kiss. His eyes were still a little crossed when she pulled away and said, "_Now_ your wife is ready to go to work." She gave her still unmoving husband another quick kiss on the lips and swept out the door.

~ O ~

Her boots clicked like a metronome as she made her way toward the pub to meet her MI-6 friend, Harry. Fortunately, it was just a few blocks from their hotel, and she was enjoying the cool evening air. As she approached the pub, four large carriage lights guided her toward it. She was only a couple of minutes late when she reached a red façade with the words Rose and Crown in large gold letters emblazoned over the door.

A surge of raucous laughter surrounded her as she pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Standing just inside, she scanned the faces in the room and wondered if her contact had arrived. She was looking forward to seeing her old friend again as he was one of the "good guys" in the business. Movement at the back corner of the room caught her eye. Her contact stood and gave her a small wave.

Tipping her head in acknowledgement, she meandered her way through the crowded pub, turning sideways to scoot between backs of chairs. As she approached, the MI-6 agent's smile grew wider.

"Sarah Walker," he exclaimed, his blue eyes twinkling with delight. He took a couple of steps forward and held out his hands for her to take.

"Hello, Harry. It's great to see you again. You haven't changed a bit," she said, returning his smile with her own. She grasped his hands and leaned in slightly to accept the kiss he gave her on first one cheek and then the other.

He took a half-step back and lifted their hands to the sides. "Look at you. Smashing as ever," he said, his grin growing in brilliance. "Please! Sit down, sit down," he said, indicating the empty wooden chair against the white plaster wall. As she lowered herself into the seat on one side of the small table, he asked, "Can I get you a drink?"

"A bottle of still water would be great, thank you."

"I'll be right back," he said and headed for the bar.

While he was gone, she took the opportunity to make a quick assessment of her surroundings. Young professionals filled most of the tables and there were only two where the occupants were alone. At one sat an older gentleman reading a book, seemingly oblivious to the cacophony of noise around him and at the other a man about Sarah's age tapped away at a laptop computer.

Continuing to survey the room, she noted the kitchen was located to the right of the bar, on the other side of the wall her back was against. She assumed there would be a back door leading to an alley. There were few decorations. The only one of note was a wooden rack displaying china plates hung on one wall. The rest of the walls were dominated by paned windows painted a glossy brick red giving the room the only splash of color that was otherwise dominated by wood and white plaster.

Harry returned with a bottle of water and a glass with a slice of lemon slipped on its rim and set them on the table in front of her. He sat down with his back to the adjacent wall.

After taking a sip of the pint that had been sitting on the table, he said, "I took the liberty of sitting at a table where we can see the door."

"Appreciated," she said, dropping the lemon slice into her glass and pouring the water over it. She snuck a peek at Harry as she did so. He was as handsome as ever with his thick dark hair, sapphire blue eyes and chiseled features. He was one of those people who always looked incredible, whether he was in a tuxedo or dressed as he was now, in a charcoal grey cashmere V-neck and jeans. Given the fact that he really was an MI-6 agent, he was the closest thing there was to a real life James Bond.

Relaxing back in his chair, he crossed his legs and gazed at her. "It was great to hear from you, Sarah. It's been what, two years?"

She thought back to remember. "That sounds about right. It was that mission in Portugal where Ricardo Borba, the cork magnate, was smuggling stolen art out with his shipments."

"Yes, yes. Are you still working with the same partner? What was his name? Br—"

"No," she answered quickly, cutting him off. "I have a new partner."

He narrowed his eyes at the way she'd interrupted him. Shrugging, he seemed to let it go and then brightened suddenly. "Oh, I do hope it's the tall redhead! What was her name…?" He snapped his fingers over and over trying to come up with the name. "Ah! Carina!" he cried in triumph. Cocking his head back, he gazed at her from under hooded eyelids. "You know, there's a story about the two of you mud wrestling that is the stuff of legend. It spread through the worldwide intelligence community like a computer virus." Leaning forward, he dropped his voice and asked, "Is it true?"

A smile twitched on her lips as she stared at the lemon at the bottom of her glass. "Yes, it's true." She raised her eyes to his and took a sip of water. "For the plan to work, there needed to be a distraction." She felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Carina and I were the distraction."

Harry let out a low whistle and flopped back in his chair. "_I bet_ the pair of you were a distraction. Mission accomplished I take it?"

Sarah couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, the other two members of the team were able to get in and out of the club owner's office with the files they needed without anyone noticing. Let's just say the security guards weren't doing their jobs very well at that particular moment."

"So the mud wrestling story is true," he murmured to himself in awe.

"Trust me. It's very true. I was washing mud from places where there shouldn't be any for a week after that," she said with a smirk.

Harry let out a hearty laugh and took another sip of his pint. Setting it down on the table, he snapped his head toward her and shot her an appraising look. "You said something funny. I've never known you to say _anything_ funny. You're Sarah Walker. No nonsense, serious and always on task. You're all about the Agency." She held her gaze steady as his blue eyes bored into hers. He pointed a finger at her and and hissed, "You've met someone!"

"What? I have not!" she cried, feigning innocence. Her protestation would have led anyone else into believing they were mistaken. But to a trained MI-6 agent, it was a non-starter. He called her on it.

"I'm right and you know I won't back down until I get the intel I want. Is it serious?" he probed.

_More than you'll ever know_. She shrugged a shoulder. "Mm-hmm."

He glanced down at her left hand. "It can't be _too_ serious if there aren't any rings."

She gave him a coy glance. "We're taking it slow."

"He'd best not take it too slow or I might make my move." He sipped his pint. "If it's not too late, that is."

Chuckling, she replied, "I'm afraid it is."

"At least give me a fighting chance," he parried. "Is he an agent?"

"No."

"Does he know what you do for a living?"

"Yes, and no more twenty questions." Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, she said, "You know the rules, Harry. Agents need to keep their personal lives and professional lives separate. That's the only way to keep the ones we love safe."

His eyebrows shot up at her use of the word "love." He considered her for a long moment and then nodded. Holding up his palms in submission, he said, "The man who has captured the heart of the great and beautiful Sarah Walker and evoked that kind of devotion from her deserves my utmost respect. I'll not ask another question about your mysterious man." He heaved a sigh. "But don't forget about me in case this infatuation of yours goes sour. I could help you pick up the pieces." He gave her a roguish smile.

Laughing, she replied, "That's not going to happen."

"Ah, well. Can't blame a bloke for trying." He leaned back again and said smoothly, "Tell me, Agent Walker. Since it's now clear that this isn't a social outing, what can I do for you?"

_Good old Harry. Down to business_. "I've been tasked to turn up any information that will help with uncovering the whereabouts of Henri Benoit."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Yes, the elusive Monsieur Benoit," he said. "He's being hunted by nearly every worldwide intelligence agency there is, including yours and mine. What makes you think I have any information other than what's available from my superiors?"

She turned his words over in her mind. Proceeding carefully, she explained, "Going through official channels can be so… restrictive. Intelligence agencies aren't known for sharing very well. I thought I might be able to pick up bits and pieces of information directly from agents in the field. A little here, a little there, I might be able to put some random things together and find a clue to his whereabouts." She spun her glass absently. "Even if you haven't heard anything, maybe you can point me toward someone who might."

"Networking," Harry supplied.

"Exactly."

He crossed his arms, laid his index finger on his lips and squinted at her. Deep in thought, his eyes seemed to stare through her. Finally, he said, "Benoit's not been on my radar, so I don't have any information for you right now, but I'll pay more attention in the future and let you know if I hear anything."

Sarah swallowed her disappointment, but wasn't surprised that Harry didn't have anything for her. She knew getting any information so easily was unlikely, but she had to try. With a finger, she pushed a piece of hair across her forehead as she stalled, considering how to bring up the next topic.

"There's something else," he stated, sipping his pint.

She'd forgotten he was the master of reading tells. "I'm also hoping to get any information I can on a couple our former agents – Frost and Orion." She was pretty good at reading people too, and noticed right away when his eyes told her that he recognized their names.

"They disappeared years ago. Why are you asking about them now?"

She knew she needed to be careful with what she said when it came to Frost and Orion. There could be absolutely no connections to Chuck. "Some new information about them has recently surfaced—a connection to Benoit. The Agency would like to find out what happened to them."

"I suppose your employer isn't fond of losing track of their employees," he speculated.

"No, they're not. If we can find Benoit, then maybe we can find out about Frost and Orion as well. Or maybe vice-versa," she shrugged a shoulder. "We may not turn anything up, but it's worth a try."

He nodded and repeated his previous declaration, "If I hear anything, I'll be sure to let you know."

Employing their training throughout their conversation, the two agents had been checking the door each time a patron entered the pub. It was only a subtle change, but Sarah noticed when Harry's gaze followed a young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties with dark, close-cropped hair and dressed all in black. He crossed the room and sat down at the table with the man using the laptop.

"Friend of yours?" Sarah asked.

"Not exactly," Harry said quietly, looking away from the two men and at her. "I thought you might like to be involved in a short mission tonight, for old time's sake."

She felt her heart rate quicken. "Harry!" she whispered fiercely. "What are you talking about? I wasn't planning on being a part of a mission!"

"Why not? You're always prepared, aren't you?" he asked smugly. "You have your Smith & Wesson in your waistband and your throwing knives holstered to your calf."

"Do you have to remember everything?" she grumbled, annoyed at his self-assuredness.

He simply smiled back at her. "Please! You remember every detail about every agent you've ever worked with." His eyes danced, enjoying himself immensely. "What am I carrying?"

She huffed and rolled her eyes. "A Walther P99," she muttered in defeat. _Always the charmer_, she thought, suppressing a smile. "What if I don't want in on your 'little mission' tonight?"

"I think you will."

"Really. You're pretty sure of yourself." She scrutinized him. "What makes you so confident?"

"You see the man with the laptop? He's Fulcrum." He raised an eyebrow at her sharp intake of breath. "I see I've piqued your interest."

"Go on," came her guarded reply.

"You've encountered Fulcrum, I take it."

She nodded curtly but otherwise remained silent, giving him permission to continue.

"The Fulcrum agent's name is John Fletcher. He's the number two man to Trevor Kingston, Fulcrum's top encryption software designer. Kingston stays well hidden and we don't know where he is. I've been trying to catch up to Fletcher for a couple of months, hoping to follow him to Kingston. Rumor has it that Kingston's been furiously working on code that would counteract some encryption software that your government developed. Apparently it's able to decrypt any cipher."

She worked to keep her breathing steady even as her heart thumped in her chest. _Project Sun Ray_. "I heard rumors around the agency about it. Does it work?" she asked, taking a drink of her water, hoping to appear nonchalant. Thankfully, Harry was occupied with keeping an eye on the table across the room, so he didn't pay attention to her reaction.

"It does," he answered. "It's caused significant chaos for many terrorist organizations. Their intercepted coded communications have been giving our side a lot of excellent intel." He sounded impressed. "Apparently the main developer of the software is quite the shadowy figure. No one knows much about him."

"Is that so?" she asked, keeping her voice even.

Dropping his voice, he said with a smirk, "He's probably some pasty computer geek who's never touched a woman and 'still lives in his parents' basement.' Isn't that what you Americans say?"

She couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up at how wrong he was about the "shadowy figure." "I believe that's the phrase," she said, making it seem that her mirth was tied to his comment. The twinkle in his eye told her she had covered her reaction satisfactorily. She experienced an overwhelming sense of pride knowing that Chuck's software was doing exactly what it was designed to do. It also told her that if Harry's mission had anything to do with Project Sun Ray, she would need to help him with whatever he was tasked to do. "Who's Fletcher's friend?" she asked without looking over at the men in question.

"That's Markos Androkos. He's a member of a Greek anarchist group known as 'Blaze of Fire.' They're engaged in urban guerrilla warfare throughout Athens. They target their enemies with firebombs. He and his group are a nasty lot," he said with disdain. "Since it's not one of the larger terrorist organizations in existence, Fulcrum is using them to test their new 'unbreakable' code, thinking they would 'fly under the radar' as it were."

"They're large enough to gain attention, but small enough that if their messages don't get decrypted, it wouldn't set off any major alarms. Those few messages might be seen as anomalies," Sarah concluded.

"Precisely. We received a tip that the two were meeting tonight for Fletcher to pass the software to Androkos, probably on a thumb drive. I'm here to stop the handoff and take both of them in. Once we get Fletcher into custody, we hope to 'persuade' him into giving up Kingston's whereabouts. I'm hoping his laptop—which it being here tonight is an unexpected bonus—might give us some intel. Arresting Androkos should be a blow to their little group as well and disrupt the distribution of Kingston's software."

Chuck already had to modify the software he'd developed to break Benoit's encryption at least once. She wondered if there was a connection between Benoit and Kingston. Either way, she had to stop Fulcrum at every opportunity, whether or not it was directly connected to her husband's work. "I'm in," she stated as they both watched Fletcher slide a folded magazine across the table to Androkos.

"Brilliant," Harry replied, "and just in time. It looks like the exchange has just taken place. You follow Androkos, take him out and secure the drive. I'll take care of Mr. Fletcher. Call me when you've got him."

"Roger that," she said, her brain already fully engaged on the mission.

Neither spoke as they waited for one of the men to leave. It was Androkos who stood, took the folded magazine in his hand and headed for the door.

"Looks like Fletcher will be here for a few," Sarah observed. Patting Harry on the arm, she said, "Good luck."

"Happy hunting," he replied cheerily, raising his almost empty pint in toast. He then proceeded to drain it.

She stood and slipped out from behind the table, her eyes never leaving her quarry. He stepped out the door, turned left and strode down the street. She was out the door seconds behind him. It wasn't terribly late at night—Sarah figured it to be around ten—so there were still people strolling on the sidewalks. Without breaking his step, he took the magazine from under his arm and opened it. He took something from it and stuffed that something—presumably the drive—into his pocket. Finally, he proceeded to unceremoniously toss the magazine onto the sidewalk.

_You can be an anarchist, but you don't have to litter_, she thought dryly to herself.

She quickened her steps, hoping to catch up with him. _If I can get him to stop to talk to me for a minute, I should be able to subdue him._ He obviously heard her coming up from behind since he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie and lowered his head. He hastened his pace.

_Crap_. Thinking fast, she called out, "Hey, handsome! I saw you back there at the pub and you left before I got a chance to talk to you," she said, slipping into a British accent. That got him to peek over his shoulder and when he did so, she flashed him a radiant grin. He stopped, turned and said with a Greek accent, "Are you speaking to me?"

"Oh, you have the best accent," she cooed as she approached. His eyes flicked from her to something going on behind her back. Whatever it was—Sarah guessed it had something to do with Harry following Fletcher out of the pub—it spooked Androkos. He spun around and ran down the street in a dead sprint.

A spurt of adrenaline surged in her midsection as she took off after him.

The chase was on.


	16. Piccadilly

**A/N: **As always, thank you. And thanks to my beta extraordinaire, **AgentInWaiting**, for his stellar work on this story. I give you, sir, a virtual BMW.

A quick "heads up" about upcoming chapters. I will endeavor to continue to post every Thursday. However, because of the amount of research involved, the chapters are taking longer to write. Should there not be an update posted on a given Thursday, you can check Twitter (quistie64) for teasers from the chapter under construction.

Onward and upward.

**Chapter 16 – Piccadilly**

Sarah ran flat out as she kept her focus on the back of the fleeing Markos Androkos, Greek anarchist. She had followed him for several blocks and it seemed that the chase wasn't going to end anytime soon. Ten yards ahead of her, she watched him throw out an arm and shove a couple walking hand-in-hand against the window of a storefront. As she sped past the stunned pair, she shouted, "Excuse us!" A few steps later, she rushed up on the back of a large man standing in the middle of the sidewalk, pointing and cursing at Androkos who had bounced off of him seconds before. Without breaking her stride, she swerved around the man only to nearly collide with a college-aged kid walking in the other direction. She averted a head-on crash only by pivoting on one foot and spinning around him like a running back avoiding a tackle.

The heads of curious onlookers quickly turned as first Androkos and then Sarah sprinted past. Ending the chase by firing her gun was out of the question. There were just too many people around, and the crowds would only grow based on the direction they were running. If Androkos knew London's geography, he was smart. If he didn't, he was lucky. Either way, she knew they were headed straight for the cars, taxis, buses, lights and crowds of Piccadilly Circus. She cursed silently. It would be easier for him to disappear into the crowd there.

She kept her eyes fixed on the anarchist as they burst from the straight road into an intersection where several streets converged. He dropped from a dead run to a quick walk as he crossed a street and headed for a memorial and fountain. Panting just slightly—all those runs at high altitude had served her well—Sarah jogged across the street and made her way around groups of tourists standing in clumps around the fountain. The twilight of the June sky was only now darkening into night. The overhead streetlights, car headlamps and neon signs helped illuminate the area, allowing Sarah to keep watch on the Greek.

Head bowed, Androkos peered discreetly over his shoulder. She knew he saw her staring back at him when he snapped his head forward and quickened his pace. Sarah tried to catch up with him, but was thwarted by a flood of people streaming from a nearby theater. Shoving her way through, she fought to free herself from the crowd. Just as she escaped, she was forced to momentarily take her eyes from Androkos when a bicyclist nearly crashed into her. When she looked again to where she had last seen her quarry, her stomach dropped. He was gone. _Crap_. She ran a frustrated hand through her hair as her eyes darted about.

_There's no way I'm letting that jerk get away_. A trickle of perspiration slid down between her shoulder blades as she turned slowly, willing herself to locate him. Her gaze snapped to the left when she heard the blast of a car horn. _There!_ She watched with disgust as he pounded his fists on the bonnet of a black taxi, screaming at the driver. He stopped his tirade suddenly, as if remembering he was being pursued. With a final obscene gesture, he quickly finished crossing the street and jogged to catch up to a group of teenagers. He walked just behind them as if he were part of their group as they headed toward a red, white and blue sign marking an entrance to the Underground. Should he board a train before she got to him, he'd be lost in the wind. Setting her jaw, she promised herself she couldn't—she wouldn't—let that happen.

She jogged across the same street Androkos had just crossed and watched him disappear down the stairs. She quickened her pace as she headed for the entrance and started down the steps as he stepped off at the bottom. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her descending toward him and started to sprint off. At breakneck speed, she took the steps two at a time and jumped over the last two, landing hard on the tile floor. At that moment, she was never more grateful for the quality craftsmanship of her sturdy Italian boots.

She watched him run straight toward the hallway that curved left to the ticketing area and beyond that, the bank of turnstiles that stood between them and the escalators that led down to the train platforms. What he apparently didn't know is that the whole area was a big circle and that he had gone the long way around. Seeing her chance, she cut quick to the right and sprinted toward the turnstiles. He was clearly shocked to see her coming at him from the other direction as they reached the barrier simultaneously. While he had to muscle his way through the lines of people to get to the entrance, she hopped over the wheelchair gate and zigzagged through the travelers who had just passed through. He jumped a turnstile and landed on the other side just as she reached him.

He tried to run, but she grabbed him by the arm and spun him around to face her. She balled up her fist and threw a right cross. A familiar pain shot up her arm as her knuckles connected with his left cheek. The force of the blow made him stagger to her left and stumble to the floor. It pleased her to know that even if she hadn't thrown a punch in anger for almost a year, there was still plenty of power behind it.

"Hey, what are you doing?" a man yelled at them as he came through a turnstile.

"This guy ran out on my sister! He stole her money and left her pregnant!" Sarah shouted the first thing that popped into her head in reply. Glaring at Androkos, she cried, "How could you do that to her, Markos! She loved you, you bastard!"

Androkos' confusion was obvious. From the floor, he stared up at her as he swiped at the small trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "You are Angelica's sister?" he asked in his thick Greek accent. "Is _that_ what this is about?"

_Lucky guess_. When Sarah said nothing, and only pinned him with a laser stare, his face turned thunderous with rage. "I owe her nothing!" he spat. "I am anarchist! I do what I want!"

Her anger roiled at the contemptuous attitude of this colossal jerk. _Oh, this idiot so deserves a good ass-kicking._ It was all she could do not to drill her boot deep into his gut, but she didn't want to call any more attention to them than they had already received, so she refrained.

The man gave Androkos a disdainful glare and growled as he stalked off toward the escalators, "Right then, miss. Carry on."

Sarah grabbed the back of Androkos' hoodie and hauled him to his feet. She marched him toward a nearby emergency stairwell in order to get him under control away from prying eyes. With one hand, she threw open the door while shoving him onto the small landing at the top of the long spiral staircase with the other. As the door closed behind them, he twisted away from her and took a half step back. As he spun to face her, he whipped out a switchblade and flicked it open.

He waved the knife slowly back and forth in front of him. "You cannot make me do anything for your sister," he snarled. She grimaced when she felt the bile burn at the back of her throat when he sneered at her and said, "Although if she looked like you, perhaps I would not have left her." Menacingly, he added, "If you submit to me, perhaps I will not have to cut such a beautiful face."

_Oh, brother_. "I'll take my chances," she answered calmly, doing everything she could to keep from rolling her eyes. Her nonchalance only infuriated him as his face blackened with rage. He bellowed in rage and thrust the knife at her midsection. She stepped to the side, blocked his arm away from her with her forearm and then clamped her hand down on his wrist just above the knife in his hand. His momentum carried him a step past her, but with her hand firmly gripping his wrist, she yanked up on it and gripped it her other hand. She spun in the other direction, wrenching his arm back and down, flipping him to the floor. He grunted when he landed first on his back and then rolled onto his stomach. Sarah never loosened her grip on his arm and when she torqued hard on his wrist, he cried out in pain. His hand popped open and the knife clattered to the floor. She picked it up, closed it and shoved it in her pocket.

With Androkos lying prostrate, the side of his face that Sarah had smashed earlier was now pressed against the floor. She still held onto his wrist, making his arm stick straight up in the air in an awkward and unnatural position. He clearly had little or no training, since he didn't even try to fight back. She didn't have handcuffs with her, so she had to be imaginative when it came to securing him.

"Bend your right knee," she ordered.

Like a petulant child, he ignored her.

_I feel bad for his mother. Bet he was a pain in the ass when he was a kid._ Blowing out an aggravated breath, she cranked his arm, eliciting from him a yelp of pain. Through clenched teeth, she put her mouth right next to his ear and growled, "Bend your right knee."

As if trying to save face, he hesitated before slowly raising his foot so that his lower leg was perpendicular to the floor while also parallel to his arm. With one hand still secure around his wrist, she reached out with the other and yanked off his shoe. Clamping it between her knees, she deftly pulled at the lace until it was freed from the eyelets. She twisted his arm around and behind his back and pinned his hand to his lower back with her knee. He grunted at the pressure as most of her weight was focused at her knee. She leaned over, grabbed his other hand and pulled it behind his back. Finally, she wrapped the shoelace around his wrists and made a tight, secure knot. Trying to slip a finger under the lace, she found that it was taut. In the event that the lace might break before she could get a proper set of cuffs on him, she removed his other shoe and lace and tied it around his wrists just like the first.

"You are a crazy woman!" he shouted. "Why are you tying me up? You cannot do this to me!"

"What? You said it yourself. I can do anything I want," she said while she patted him down.

"The laces are cutting into my skin," he whined.

"Oh, big man doesn't mind setting things on fire and burning people to death, but heaven forbid his wrists chafe. Carefully, there, Markos, or you'll get kicked out of the anarchist club."

After cutting loose with a string of obscenities, he said, "You are not Angelica's sister."

"What was your first clue, Sherlock?" _Fred would be so proud._

"Who do you work for? MI-6? Interpol? NIS?"

_Greek National Intelligence Service? Interesting. I wonder if he's had run-ins with them._ _I'll mention it to Harry when I hand him over._ She rolled him onto his side so that she could check the pockets of his hoodie. Patting the front of the sweatshirt, she felt the flash drive. She removed it from his pocket and let Androkos roll back onto his stomach. "A girl has to have her secrets, Markos," she answered. She texted Casey, telling him to meet her at the Piccadilly memorial as soon as possible. Next, she texted Chuck. She informed him the meeting went well and that she would see him soon. Once she received responses from them both, she slipped the lace-less shoes back onto Androkos' feet and said, "Come on. We're going for a little walk."

"I am not going anywhere with you, you whore!" he hissed.

Even as anger flared through her, she kept her calm demeanor. "I think I've been really rather nice to you so far, Markos. I only punched you once when you deserve a lot more than that, given your bad attitude toward Angelica in particular and women in general." She reached around, drew her Smith & Wesson and flicked off the safety. Pressing the muzzle to his temple, she hissed through gritted teeth, "Now you're starting to make me mad."

"You will not kill me. There are cameras everywhere. They will see and catch you," he said smugly.

"Are you sure?" she answered evenly. She took the gun away from his head, pulled the slide back to chamber a round, and placed the muzzle at his temple again. "Haven't you ever seen those James Bond movies? 'Licensed to kill' and all that?" Chuck and his movie references were improving her intimidation techniques. _I'll have to thank him later._

A bead of sweat raced down his forehead. Licking his lips, he croaked, "That is only in the movies."

"Is it?" She pressed the muzzle harder against his temple. In a flinty voice, she said, "Are you feeling lucky, punk?"

Apparently, the fury and resolve filling her voice was enough to convince Androkos that she was not to be tested. His whole body relaxed and he answered with resignation, "I will go with you."

When she flicked the safety on, the hammer decocked with a loud click. Androkos flinched. "Hope you didn't wet yourself, Markos," she said. She suppressed a smile when she recognized the influence the boys and Casey had on her. Replacing her weapon, she grabbed an arm and pulled him to his feet. As she did so, she informed him, "You know I have a gun and I'm not afraid to use it. Also, just so you know, that's not the only weapon I carry. Don't get any ideas about trying to get away. Cooperate and there won't be any broken bones."

Defeated, Androkos nodded. She opened the door and they stepped out. Androkos' shoes flopped and slapped against the tile as he shuffled across the lobby. They received a few curious stares, but no one spoke to them.

They had just reached the memorial when Casey jumped from a black taxi and jogged toward them.

"Hey! Hold the taxi!" she shouted at Casey as he approached.

She knew he was scowling, even before she got a good look at his face. "What the hell's going on, Walker?" he barked.

"Meet Markos Androkos, Greek anarchist."

His eyes snapped to the young man and a low growl rumbled from deep within his chest. The look on Androkos' face told her that if he thought he was going to have an easier time with her replacement, he knew now that he was sadly mistaken.

"I'll explain it all later, but right now I need you to babysit him for a few minutes. I have to take care of something before we turn him over to my friend." At his questioning stare, she slipped the thumb drive far enough out of her pocket for him to see and then quickly shoved it back.

"Roger that." She watched as Casey's eyes traveled from the Greek's shoes to his hands bound behind his back. There was a flash of amusement in them when grabbed Androkos by the arm and hauled him toward a bench. "We're going to have a nice debate about anarchy versus democracy, aren't we, Markos?"

She chuckled at the miserable look on Androkos' face. As she hustled toward the awaiting taxi, she thought, _He deserves every minute of it_.

~ O ~

The light from the hallway illumined their hotel room as Sarah quickly stepped in and closed the door behind her. In those quick seconds, she saw Megan asleep on the mattress on the floor while Chuck sat on top of their bed, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Once the door was closed, the only light in the room was the bluish glow that came from the computer perched on her husband's lap. When he saw her, his face split into a huge grin and he sat up straighter. "Hi!" he whispered.

"Hi," she whispered back, grinning in return. She crawled across the bed and sat down next to him, facing him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "You're such a good man," she said earnestly after their kiss broke. Thinking back to how sweet Fred was when she left for her meeting earlier in the evening—asking her to be careful—she added, "And we're raising wonderful, respectful boys."

"Okaaaaay. That's oddly specific," he replied slowly, clearly befuddled. He gazed into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

She kissed him again and then nodded. Scooting off the bed, she said, "Come in the bathroom and we'll close the door."

"Sarah, I don't think—" he started, setting the laptop on the bed and throwing his legs over the side.

"No, bring the computer."

His eyebrows shot up. "Megan is right here and—"

"I know," she whispered. "That's why we're going into the bathroom, so we can talk and not wake her up."

"Oh."

Squinting at him, she finally caught up to his misunderstanding of her words. Shooting him a devilish smile, she purred, "Perhaps another time, Mr. Bartowski."

He snatched the laptop from the bed and sheepishly followed her into the bathroom as she flicked on the light. Quietly closing the door behind them, she turned to find him already sitting on the counter.

"How'd it go?" he asked, his voice still low. "Did you find out anything?"

"I'll tell you all about it later. Right now, I need you to download this onto your computer." She held up the flash drive for him to take.

"What is it?"

"Long story short, I went on a short, impromptu mission with my contact and ended up with this drive. It has Fulcrum's latest attempt to circumvent Project Sun Ray software."

"What?" he whisper-shouted in alarm. "You went on a mission? Are you okay?" He searched her face.

She laid a hand on his knee. "I'm fine. I promise, sweetie, see?" She twirled around slowly under Chuck's watchful gaze. "I'll explain it all later. Right now, we need to get the software from this drive on to your computer before I have to give it to MI-6."

His face cleared with understanding. He opened the laptop and stuck the drive into a port. "Okay, Fulcrum," he said quietly as his fingers flew over the keyboard, "let's see what you've been up to." He scanned the screen, "Here's a shocker. There's a virus on the drive." He tapped at the keys. "Correction, there _was_ a virus on the drive."

Peeking at the screen, she watched windows flash open and close as the code downloaded. A minute later, he removed the drive and handed it back to her. "Other than the virus—which was set up to allow them to gain full access to every computer it infected—everything is still on the drive. Your friends at MI-6 should thank me for removing the virus, by the way."

She stuck the drive back in her pocket. "They should, but they won't. They'll never know you had access to it. You might get this software eventually, but I didn't want to take the chance in case MI-6 isn't in a sharing mood." She paused and then added, "By the way, do you think you can hack into the security cameras at the Piccadilly Circus Tube station and erase…" she glanced at her watch and did a quick mental calculation, "the recordings between ten and ten-thirty?"

He clutched at his chest. "Please, Sarah! You wound me deeply," he said melodramatically. "These are some magic fingers!" he added, wiggling them.

"You don't have to tell me that," she said suggestively, causing Chuck's face to flush crimson. A thought hit her. "Wait a second. You didn't even ask why."

He winked at her. "Not my first time deleting an incriminating video of you. I'm starting to think you only married me for my hacking skills that keep you out of trouble."

"Mm-hmm. You're on to me," she deadpanned. "Just delete the video."

"Can I watch it first?"

She heaved a sigh. "If you must."

"Can I download a copy before I delete it, you know, for personal use only?"

She stared at him.

"We can show it to our grandchildren someday. They'll get to see what a kickass ninja spy their grandma was."

"Was?"

She had to clamp her hand over his mouth when a burst of laughter escaped. "Shhhh."

"Sorry," he mumbled into her palm. Her eyes twinkled as she removed her hand and regarded him thoughtfully. "To be on the safe side, you might want to check the cameras on Piccadilly between here and Piccadilly Circus for the same time period."

"Sounds like you had quite an evening," he grinned. "Consider it done." Hooking a strand of hair behind her ear, he asked, "So, you're off again?"

She nodded. "Casey's babysitting the guy I took the drive from. I have to turn both him and it over to Harry. Hopefully it won't take too long. There's a certain someone I'm looking forward to sleeping with tonight."

Chuck closed the laptop and jumped down from the counter. "Well, that certain someone's a lucky guy." He kissed her nose. "Go. The sooner you rid yourself of your bad guy and his foul flash drive, the sooner you can come to bed."

"Okay, but please don't wait up."

"I won't. You know how I need my beauty sleep."

Smiling, she gave him a quick kiss, turned and snuck out. As she strode down the hallway, she called Harry and told him where to meet her for the exchange. After a short taxi ride back to Piccadilly, she found Casey and Androkos in the same place she had left them thirty minutes before.

"How's it going?" she asked as she approached the two men. She nearly burst out laughing at the look of abject despair on Androkos' face. Casey's visage was the picture of contentment as he puffed on a cigar, being sure to blow the smoke into the Greek's face.

"We had a real nice visit, didn't we Markos?" Casey lisped around the stogie clamped between his teeth. The hard slap on the back he gave Androkos nearly sent him face first onto the pavement. "Everything good with you?" Casey asked her.

"Yes, thank you," she replied. "My errand was a success. We'll be relieved of both our prisoner and the flash drive as soon as my friend arrives." She had barely sat down on the bench when a black sedan pulled up and Harry jumped out of the back seat.

Striding toward them, Harry called out with a pleased smile, "Ah, Sarah, I see you were successful in tracking down Mr. Androkos. Gave you a bit of a chase, didn't he? Impressive."

She stood from the bench. "Yes, I caught up with him inside the Tube station. I assume you were equally successful?"

"Yes, I was. Mr. Fletcher didn't get nearly as far." He peered around Sarah and looked at Casey and Androkos.

Casey stood and pulled Androkos up by the arm. "Harry Chalmers, this is my partner, John Casey." They eyed each other as they slowly shook hands.

"By partner she means…" Harry started.

"Business," Casey replied, the smoke from his cigar swirling about in the breeze.

"You're not her mystery man," he stated.

Casey looked over to Sarah who gave him a pointed look. "No."

Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Harry said, "You won't tell me who he is, will you?"

"No."

"Then can you tell me this? Do I stand any chance with our fair Miss Walker?"

Sarah's exasperated "Harry!" was punctuated by Casey's amused grunt. "Judging by how often she gets her chocolate into his peanut butter, no chance at all."

Her scandalized "Casey!" was overridden by Harry's laughter. "Well John Casey, it appears that you have a way with phrasing things just so. You must be a sparkling conversationalist."

Androkos muttered something under his breath in Greek and rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, you," Casey growled. Androkos stared at him but kept his mouth shut.

Harry tipped his head back and sniffed the smoke from Casey's cigar. "Romeo y Julieta?"

Casey's face lit up with approval. "Yeah." He reached inside his jacket pocket and extracted a cigar and handed it to Harry.

"Thank you," he said. He passed it under his nose, breathing deeply the aroma. "I will enjoy this later, my new, large friend. Right now, my superiors are anxious to get Mr. Androkos into their custody." Casey pulled at the Greek's arm, getting him to move toward Harry. The MI-6 agent's brow furrowed when he looked down at the flopping shoes. He then burst out laughing when he noticed the laces that secured Androkos' hands behind his back. "Always the quick thinker, Sarah. Well done."

"Thank you," she said, bowing slightly. Straightening, she took the drive from her pocket and handed it to Harry. "I hope your bosses will be willing to share whatever is on this with my bosses," she said.

"I hope so, too. And thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome. Oh, and you might want to check with Greek NIS regarding our friend, here," she added. Androkos mumbled some more. Ignoring the Greek, Sarah stepped forward and kissed Harry's cheek. Pulling back, she stared into his eyes. "If you hear anything—anything at all—about our French friend, or the other two people we discussed, you'll let me know?"

"Of course. Count on it."

Satisfied, she stepped back. Harry gripped Androkos' arm and led him toward the car. In a parting shot, Harry called out before he disappeared into the back, "Ring me if it doesn't work out with your mystery man."

"Good-bye, Harry," she called back with a chuckle.

Mission completed, Sarah and Casey shared a final taxi ride back to the hotel. It was just before midnight, but Sarah still had one more thing that needed to be done before she could go to bed. She knew Director Graham would be waiting for her report, and since it was early evening in Washington, she had no excuse not to call him immediately and fill him in on what transpired over the course of the evening. Casey rousted Vegas from his room and Barstow from guard duty to join them in Casey's room, figuring it would be easier to tell the whole story once rather than over and over. Both Vegas and Barstow sat stone-faced as Sarah relayed the details of the meeting with Chalmers and the subsequent pursuit and capture of Androkos. While the director was disappointed that Harry didn't have any information on Benoit, he was very excited to hear of the capture of Fletcher, the Fulcrum agent, and told them that he would immediately contact his counterpart at MI-6 to gain access to both the agent and the software. When Sarah informed the director that she made sure Chuck had a copy of the software before she turned it over to MI-6, she thought he might just burst into song. Even the corner of Barstow's lip curled up upon hearing the director's giddiness at the news. Of course Graham's joy was short lived and the inevitable, "Have Mr. Bartowski examine the software and have him report back with his findings as soon as possible," order was given. She promised to do so and to file her written report to him as well. The call ended.

The four agents said their goodnights and Sarah made her way down the hall. She slipped into her room and stood with her back to the door while she waited for her eyes to adjust. After a moment, she was able to see the outline of Megan's sleeping form on the mattress on the floor and her husband's in their bed. A wave of fatigue crashed over her as the adrenaline that had pumped through her over the course of the previous two hours drained away. All she wanted to do now was crawl in bed. It took less than a minute to pull off her boots and secure her gun and knives on the top shelf of the closet out of Megan's reach. She left a trail of clothes on the floor as she stripped them off and dropped them as she made her way from the closet to the bed. She didn't even bother changing into her pajamas, instead opting to sleep in only her bra and panties. It was all she could do not to moan with relief when she slid between the cool sheets and stretched out on her back. Chuck immediately rolled onto his side, mumbled something about his "kickass ninja" and dropped an arm across her stomach. That was the only invitation she needed. She turned on her side and felt his arm tightening around her, pulling her closer. Reaching over to her nightstand, she felt around for the small red box. Once her rings were safely on her finger, she allowed herself to fall into a deep, dreamless slumber.

~ O ~

When Sarah blinked her eyes open the next morning, she was not especially surprised to find a pair of clear blue eyes gazing at her. Unlike that first morning in Beaver Creek when she awoke to find Megan staring at her, this time she didn't nearly pull her gun on the little girl.

"Did you catch any bad guys?" Megan wanted to know.

"Good morning to you, too, Megan," Sarah rasped in a sleepy voice, burrowing further under her sheets.

She frowned and cocked her head to one side. "I didn't say good morning."

"It's polite to."

"Oh," Megan said. "Good morning, Aunt Sarah. Did you catch any bad guys?"

A loud snort erupted from Chuck's side of the bed. He rolled onto his side, propped his head up on his hand, leaned forward and kissed his wife's ear. "Yeah, Aunt Sarah. You promised us a sitrep first thing in the morning."

"Well, this certainly is first thing. I haven't even had a shower yet," she grumbled good-naturedly. "Or my tea."

"Tea?" Chuck asked.

"Of course. What else would I drink in London?"

"True."

Megan's brow furrowed. "Did you catch any bad guys?" she asked again.

It was clear that Sarah wasn't going to get anything else done until she answered Megan's question. "Yes, sweetie, I did. I caught a bad guy."

"I knew you would, 'cause you're a good spy."

And then the interrogation began in earnest.

"Did you shoot at him?"

"No."

"Did he shoot at you?"

"No."

"Did you punch him?"

"Yes."

Megan's breath caught in her throat and she felt Chuck's body next to her flinch. "Did he punch you?"

"No."

"Did he hurt people?"

"Yes."

"Where is he now?"

"The British authorities have him under arrest."

"And now he can't hurt people anymore because you caught him?"

"Yes."

"Good." She gazed into Sarah's face. "You're a good spy."

"Thank you."

"And now I have to go to the bathroom," she announced.

Once the bathroom door closed, Sarah blew out a slow breath. "Man, that kid's intense sometimes."

"You held up well under her scrutiny, Agent Walker," Chuck mumbled, nuzzling her neck. He ran his hand down her thigh from her hip to her knee and back again, sending sparks through her body. "I'm enjoying your choice of sleepwear, by the way," he whispered.

Her insides were rapidly turning to goo, which was not good with a six-year-old about to reappear from the bathroom at any second and four girls in the adjacent room. "Accidental," she said, trying to keep her breathing steady, which she was finding increasingly hard to do with his hand wandering under the covers. She swallowed hard and added, "I was too tired to change when I came in last night."

When the bathroom door flew open and Megan walked out, Sarah wasn't surprised when Chuck's roving hand found a resting place on her ribcage. What she didn't expect was for his thumb to slip under the edge of her bra and slowly rub her skin. _Magic fingers indeed_. Her whole body thrummed as her eyes slipped closed, allowing herself to enjoy their secret connection, even with five other people so close.

"Why're your eyes closed, Aunt Sarah?" Megan asked. "You gonna go back to sleep?"

"She was out late last night catching a bad guy, remember?" Chuck answered for her. It was a good thing, too, since she was having a hard time thinking of anything other than Chuck's magic thumb.

Seconds later, Martie joined her sister in Chuck and Sarah's room and soon everyone was awake and the morning began in earnest. She heaved a disappointed sigh when Chuck removed his hand—and thumb—from her side. Maybe the next hotel's sleeping arrangements…

Chuck had managed to get in a quick shower before Lizzie invaded and set up camp in their bathroom, complaining that Lisa was hogging the one in the girls' room. Megan and Martie sat on their bed watching a morning chat show while Sarah—unable to do anything else until one of the bathrooms was liberated—stayed in bed.

When there was an insistent knock on the door, Chuck opened it to find Morgan standing there, clipboard in hand. "Hey, Chuck. The tournament is after lunch, so this morning we're going to go see Changing the Guard in front of Buckingham Palace and then…" his words trailed off when his eyes drifted away from Chuck to Sarah, her back propped up on a couple of pillows. She was covered—mostly—by the sheet.

"Good morning, Morgan."

"Aunt Sarah's being polite," Megan informed Martie who nodded solemnly.

"Hey… Sarah… Good… morn… ing…" he stuttered, his eyes growing wide. He managed an awkward wave. Clearing his throat, he glanced down at his clipboard and mumbled under his breath, "Lucky bastard." Addressing Chuck again, he said, "Breakfast is in a half hour."

"Right-e-o, buddy. We'll be there," Chuck replied, clapping his friend on the back.

"Whatever, dude," came the reply. Morgan slunk away, muttering to himself.

Closing the door, Chuck made a face and shrugged. Then he pounded on the bathroom door and yelled, "Come on, Liz. Your aunt needs to get in there."

Lizzie opened the door and stepped out, a billow of steam following behind her like she'd just been shot from a cannon. "All yours, Aunt Sarah."

Sarah jumped out of bed and sprinted for the bathroom before anyone else could claim it. In record time, she showered, dressed and applied makeup. She and Chuck then rounded up the family and headed downstairs for breakfast. They managed to remain on schedule—despite the dozen or so scones consumed by Fred and Curtis alone—and after a brief walk through Green Park, found a place near the black wrought iron gate at the front of Buckingham Palace to view the Changing the Guard ceremony.

In large crowds, Sarah's agent instincts kicked into high gear and this time was no exception. From behind her aviator sunglasses, her eyes continuously scanned the crowd. The kids were paired off into their teams and were good about not wandering away, but she still counted heads every couple of minutes.

She glanced at her watch and then scanned the crowd again, her gaze alighting on Agent Barstow who stood across the way from them behind a barricade. He wore a pale blue polo shirt, long plaid shorts and flip-flops. _He certainly looks the part of a tourist—if we were in the Bahamas._ "Barstow, how do things look from your vantage point?" She was grateful that Casey insisted that they wear their comms when dealing with a crowd this size. How large families kept track of each other without the use of spy gear was beyond her.

"Clear," came the curt reply.

Her eyes drifted to the Victoria Memorial behind her where Agent Vegas was posted at the top of the stairs. "Vegas?"

"Other than Curtis trying to climb the fence, everything's clear."

"Roger that," she said. She turned around, reached up and tugged at the back of Curtis' shirt. He grinned at her and then—responding to the finger that pointed to him and then to the ground—hopped down. She slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Dipping her head, she said into his ear, "You see those guards over there?"

"You mean the guys in the red uniforms and the crazy tall furry hats?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I see them," he answered brashly.

"They're real soldiers. You see the rifles they're holding? The ones with the bayonets?"

"Yeah." This time, his voice wasn't quite as confident.

"Those are loaded with real bullets. These guards aren't out here just for show. They're doing a job. Please don't make it harder for them, okay?" She didn't want to sound like she was lecturing, but she needed him to give the men the respect they deserved.

"Okay, Aunt Sarah," he said earnestly. Then in true Curtis fashion, he grinned and replied, "You don't want me getting shot at. Is that what you're saying?"

She returned his grin with one of her own and squeezed his shoulder. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Roger that," he said. "I'll stay off the fence."

"The Queen's Guard thanks you, I'm sure." As soon as Sarah stopped speaking, the ceremony began, right on schedule. Soldiers marched. The band marched and played their instruments. All the while, Chuck held Megan and Casey held Martie so they could see. Surprisingly, part way through the ceremony, everything stopped. Every soldier stood still and stared straight ahead. After about five minutes, a murmur rolled through the crowd of spectators.

Sarah sent a questioning look Casey's way. Her partner—resplendent in his dark blue cap with USA emblazoned in red, white and blue on the front of it—could only shrug.

Bowing her head, Sarah said in a low voice, "Vegas, Barstow. You got anything?"

"Negative," Barstow replied.

A split second later, Vegas spoke up. "They've stopped traffic on the Mall and a big car is driving straight toward us." Less than a minute after, the large gate at the front of the Palace swung open. A burgundy Bently drove slowly past the crowds and from where she stood Sarah could see a large pastel hat and a white-gloved hand waving through the window. The band played "God Save the Queen" as the car drove through the forecourt and disappeared through the arch under the famous balcony.

"Was that the Queen?" Bridget asked, standing on her tiptoes and craning her neck to see.

"I think so," Chuck replied. "If it wasn't, that person is going to have a lot of explaining to do." The kids whispered excitedly to each other.

Once the gate closed again, the rest of the ceremony continued on. When it reached its conclusion and the last strains of music disappeared as the band marched down the street, the huge crowd began to disperse. The family took the opportunity to pose for pictures in front of the gate with the large black and gold crests above their heads. Photo op ended, the group moved to the edge of St. James's Park to receive further instructions from Morgan and his ever-present clipboard.

Chuck's face scrunched in confusion. "You didn't have that clipboard…? Where did you…?"

"I had it shoved down the back of my pants," Morgan informed him.

All conversations ground to a halt and eight pairs of eyes stared at him.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"That's… disturbing, Uncle Morgan," Bridget said delicately.

"Well, you never want us kids to touch your clipboard. You don't need to worry about that anymore," Lisa said with a smirk, causing the rest of the group to laugh.

"_Anyway_," Morgan said pointedly, "according to the schedule, it's time for lunch. Chuck and Sarah, with the wait for the Queen, we finished up at Buckingham Palace later than expected, so your scheduled PDA block is now combined with lunch. You'll have to multitask. Meet us back at the hotel in forty-five minutes and then we'll head for the tournament. So off you go," he said, waving his clipboard and shooing them away. "Kids, you're with me and Casey." He turned and marched off. The kids looked at each other and shrugged. Then they waved to their uncle and aunt, turned and followed after Morgan like he was the Pied Piper of Hamlin.

Watching their retreating forms, Sarah said, "Well, at least they're paired up in their teams." She noticed that Casey had teamed up with Megan by putting her up on his shoulders. Then it suddenly stuck her that they were completely alone for the first time since they left Colorado.

Chuck rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "I'm, uh, not sure exactly what we're supposed to do during these PDA blocks. I mean," he paused as his eyes surveyed the huge expanse of grass, trees and flowers surrounding them, "this is pretty public."

She blew out a relieved chuckle. "I was thinking the same thing." She removed the comm from her ear and returned it to the case in her purse. "I really don't feel like getting arrested for lewd behavior." At his small smile, she murmured, "Now don't get me wrong. It might be fun under the right circumstances, but I think this isn't one of them."

"Agreed," he replied. He laced his fingers through hers and led her onto a gravel-covered pathway. Strolling hand-in-hand, he said, "Baby steps. How about we start slow? Today, we go for a nice walk through a park holding hands and work our way up to breaking public decency laws."

She bumped her shoulder to his and laughed. "Sounds like a plan."

They sauntered along the path that ran next to a lake in companionable silence. A group of ducks and geese glided placidly across the water. Other waterfowl stood on the grass and pecked food from the hand of an elderly gentleman wearing a jaunty white cap. She marveled at the way the ends of the drooping branches of a giant weeping willow tree hovered just over the water._ What a difference twelve hours can make_, she thought.

"That was a pretty big sigh," Chuck said.

"Oh, I didn't even realize," she replied. "I was just thinking about how different things are today from what I was doing last night. I feel like I've got whiplash."

He laughed and put an arm around her shoulder. She slipped an arm around his waist in response. "I've figured out some of what happened last night," he said. "Now that we have the chance, care to fill in some of the details?"

"What? Megan's interrogation this morning didn't give you enough information?" she answered with a smile.

"Not really, no."

Nodding, she proceeded to tell him about the events of the night before: her meeting with Harry and his promise to keep his ears and eyes open with regard to Benoit, Frost and Orion. She then went on to explain who Kingston, Fletcher and Androkos were. She ended the story when she left the pub to go after Androkos. "I have the feeling I don't need to tell you about my running down the street and punching the Greek. I assume there's a copy of the whole thing on your laptop. Am I right?"

He gave her a sidelong glance. "Maybe," he dissembled. The twinkle in his eyes gave him away. "You know how I like to watch you run."

She let out a hearty laugh.

"How did it feel to be back taking down bad guys? It's been a while."

They walked half way across a bridge and stopped. Leaning their elbows on the top of the rails, they gazed out at the government buildings and the London Eye in the distance.

"Yeah, it has. I wondered how I would feel, physically. Fortunately, those runs we've been doing together kept me in shape. Speaking of which, we need to keep that up while we're on our trip."

"Hey! Don't change the subject."

She looked at him through the corner of her eyes.

"Fine, I'll run with you. I can show off my hot wife to all of Europe."

Laughing, she slapped his arm.

"Seriously, though, Sarah. It looked like you took out Androkos without too much trouble."

"My training took over," she said simply. "I reacted without really even thinking about it."

He nodded thoughtfully. "It must have been a rush."

She raised a shoulder and let it drop. "It was." She turned around and leaned against the railing. Reaching out, she fingered a curl at his temple and looked into his eyes. "But remember, I've found a new and improved way to feel a rush."

He moved to stand in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Yeah? And what way is that?"

Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips. She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. She wasn't lying. There it was, that surge of excitement. Adrenaline. Endorphins. Whatever. It made her whole body tingle.

"Is it as good as chasing bad guys?" he asked against her lips, slightly breathless.

"Better," she answered, and kissed him deeper. Sarah lost herself in their kiss. It was only through their combined sheer forces of will—and the fact that were actually in public—that they were able to end the heated kiss.

"We—" he squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "We'd better start walking again or we'll end up getting arrested today after all."

Feeling a bit lightheaded, she nodded mutely. Still holding tightly to each other, they finished crossing the bridge to the other side of the lake and started back toward Buckingham Palace.

They fell in step as they walked. "I think we've got this PDA thing wired," he said, obviously pleased with how their time alone had been going. "Remind me to buy Lizzie a car or something for thinking of it. 'Cause this whole PDA thing? Best. Idea. Ever."

"Mm-hmm," she hummed enthusiastically. "It needs to be a _really_ nice car so she _truly_ understands the depth of our gratitude." His rich laugh was like music to her ears when she asked, "Is a Lamborghini enough or should we go with a Ferrari?"


	17. The Things We Do for Love

**A/N the first**: A big thank you to everyone who is still with me and reading this story. Your reviews, follows, favorites, and tweets are greatly appreciated. Keep 'em coming. Knowing that you're enjoying the story is one of the things that keeps me writing.

A special thank you to **UKChuckster** who gave me some wonderful insights and advice regarding the look and layout of the London Buy More. Hopefully, I did it justice.

As always, thank you to my eagle-eyed beta, **AgentInWaiting**. The time he spends on this story, not only working with the words themselves, but also being my fact-checker, keeper of continuity and characterization and a billion other things, keeps me from looking like a complete fool.

Insert disclaimer here.

**Chapter 17 - The Things We Do for Love**

Megan sat on the counter in the bathroom admiring her yellow t-shirt with "Buy More" emblazoned across the front in green block letters while Sarah finished tying the matching ribbons around the girl's thick blonde ponytail. She ran a final brush through Megan's hair and then lifted her off the counter and set her on her feet just as she heard their hotel room door open and close.

"Hey, honey, Fred and Curtis are all set," Chuck called out upon his return after having checked on the boys, making sure they were changing into their Buy More gear. "You won't believe—ooof!" Their youngest, having run from the bathroom, scrambled up onto the bed, bounced twice and launched herself at her him.

With a critical eye, Sarah checked herself in the mirror. From the bedroom came Megan's shrieks of laughter while Chuck made growling noises. Sarah could only imagine what kind of shenanigans those two were up to. Satisfied that she was ready once she had tugged at and straightened her top, she turned off the light and exited the bathroom.

Chuck had his arms wrapped around Megan's lower legs and was holding them tightly to his chest. The little girl hung upside down, her arms hanging limply next to her head. She giggled and squealed with delight as her uncle swung her back and forth like a pendulum.

"Aunt Sarah!" she called as her arms, head and ponytail swayed back and forth above the floor. "You're upside down!"

"Me!" she replied laughing. "Is that right? I'm walking on the ceiling?"

"Yeah!" came the grinning reply. "_Everything_ is on the ceiling!"

"It must be fun being the only one right side up," Sarah responded with a chuckle.

"It is!"

"Aunt Sarah, do you think we should teach Megan to walk on her hands so she can—wow!"

Chuck stopped swinging Megan and stood stock still, staring at his wife. His mouth opened and closed but there were no sounds. He looked a little like a fish underwater.

"What?" she said coyly.

Chuck remained standing still, completely gobsmacked.

"Uncle Chuck, I'm just kinda hanging here," came the patient voice from below.

"You might want to put her down. Her face is turning red."

"Oh! Right! Sorry, squirt!" he cried, coming to his senses. When he slowly lowered her to the ground, she tucked her chin to her chest, somersaulted onto her back and then scrambled to her feet.

"Do you like Aunt Sarah's new clothes for the tournament?" Megan asked, swaying a little while she regained her balance. Her face began to return to its normal color.

"Um, yeah," he managed, his eyes turning glassy. "It's like a dream come true," he murmured, provoking a smirk from his wife.

_Well, that's a reaction a wife likes to get from her husband_.

Megan rubbed her nose. "Bridget didn't like the yucky green shirts us girls had to wear, so she asked Uncle Morgan if there were any other ones. Martie and I got new yellow t-shirts," she announced proudly.

"Your t-shirt is very nice," he answered absently, his eyes never leaving Sarah's uniform.

"Megan, sweetie, why don't you run into the other room and see if your sisters are ready to go," Sarah suggested.

"Okay," she replied and zoomed into her sisters' room.

Sarah sauntered over to stand in front of Chuck. "You like the new uniform, huh? It's kind of like the ones the people who work at the Nerd Herd desk at Buy More wear."

"And by 'people' who wear this particular ensemble," he motioned with his hands, "I assume you mean women. I don't think there are very many men who would want to wear a skirt. Especially one that tight." At her quirked eyebrow, he added quickly, "Not that I'm complaining about how tight… your skirt… is."

She smoothed a hand over the black pencil skirt that ended at her knees and then tugged at the fitted white long-sleeved shirt. "The shirt isn't too tight, is it?"

"No!" he blurted. Sheepishly, he modulated his voice and said again, "No. It's nice." His eyes widened. "That's not one of my shirts, is it?"

"No, but I do have one of those tucked away in my suitcase," she purred, giving him a sly wink, "for another time."

He reached out and fingered the grey necktie looped loosely around her neck. "I didn't know you knew how to tie a Windsor knot."

"Oh, you'd be surprised at the kinds of knots I can make with a necktie."

He gave her a half-smile. "I'm both immensely intrigued and slightly intimidated at that, Mrs. Bartowski." He gently tugged at the tie and drew her close. Their lips met in a sweet, gentle kiss.

"Break it up you two," Bridget said, walking through the open doorway adjoining the rooms. "I want to see how your uniform looks on you, Aunt Sarah."

Sarah felt the pressure from the tie on her neck increase for a split second, as Chuck kissed her harder before he dropped it. Reluctantly, they broke the kiss. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments before she turned to face Bridget.

Arms crossed, Bridget tilted her head and squinted. "Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Nice. I like the long sleeves. The short sleeves were so _'muscle-shirty'_," she said, wrinkling her nose at the thought. "The longer sleeves go so nicely with the clean lines of the pencil skirt. Very classy. Very Chanel. Those short skirts they make the Nerd Herd girls wear? _Tacky!_" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

"I wouldn't mind seeing you in one of those shorter skirts," Chuck breathed quietly into Sarah's ear from behind her.

She bumped him with a shoulder. "I'll see what I can do," she whispered back. To Bridget she said, "I think you did a great job redesigning them for us."

"Thanks. I'm glad the people Uncle Morgan and I worked with on this were able to get the new uniforms shipped to us here at the hotel in time. I really didn't want us girls to wear those hideous green polo shirts again."

"Hey! _I'm_ wearing one of those hideous green polo shirts," Chuck complained with faux disgust. "How come you didn't design a new uniform for us guys?"

"You want a new uniform? Fine." Bridget gave him a wicked look, her mind clearly whirling. "How do you feel about a double breasted blazer and manpris?" She looked down at his shoes. "No chucks. Topsiders."

He lurched and clutched dramatically at Sarah as if to keep himself balanced. He grimaced and said, "No thanks. Hideous green polo shirt it is."

Sarah giggled. "Could you imagine Casey wearing manpris?" The three of them stared vacantly at the floor and then simultaneously shivered.

At that moment, the rest of the girls tumbled into the room from next door. Like Bridget, both Lizzie and Lisa wore the same modified Nerd Herd uniform their aunt wore. Martie sported a yellow t-shirt that matched Megan's. "Win or lose, I'm sure I'll have the most beautiful teammates in the tournament," Chuck said, his eyes shining with pride.

Sarah and the girls smiled happily at the compliment. While they gathered their things, Chuck received a text from Morgan informing him that he, Casey and the boys were waiting for them in the lobby.

They stepped off the elevator and saw the four guys milling around, waiting. Sarah nearly stopped dead in her tracks. "Is that Fred?" she hissed, grabbing Chuck's arm.

"Yup."

"Did… did he comb his hair?" The last time she had seen his hair combed like that—with an actual comb, not with fingers run through wet hair—was the day she and Chuck got married.

"Mm-hmm. Wait. There's more."

She looked up at him, but his smile gave nothing away. It took only a few more steps toward the group before she understood what he was referring to. A strong, spicy smell assaulted her as they came nearer. The girls scowled and glanced around at each other, trying to figure out where the odor came from.

"_What is that smell?"_ Bridget asked, wrinkling her nose.

Lizzie took a deep breath and then broke out into a coughing jag. "It smells kinda like that Axe body spray stuff the boys at school drown themselves in." She eyed her brother. "Fred, are you wearing it?"

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and hunched forward. "No, it's not Axe."

"I took him to a nearby Boots and we got some awesome stuff called Lynx Africa. You'll have the ladies running at you, right buddy?" Morgan crowed, slapping Fred on the back.

The dark glower Fred gave Morgan indicated he did not appreciate that piece of information being shared with the rest of the group.

"Or maybe just one lady," Chuck said sending a knowing look his nephew's way. Fred shrugged noncommittally and stared at his feet.

Lisa waved a hand in front of her nose. "Did you have to use the whole can? It's making my eyes water."

"Oh, boo-hoo," Curtis grumbled. "You weren't in the room when he was spraying it on. It's a good thing Uncle Casey wasn't smoking one of his cigars or the hotel would have blown up."

"Fred, you look funny," Martie stated. "Your hair is different."

"That's 'cause he actually combed it," Bridget said.

"All right, all right. That's enough teasing," Chuck said.

Sarah put an arm around Fred's shoulders and gave him a side hug. "I, for one, think Fred looks very handsome and smells… manly." Fred raised his head and smiled gratefully at her.

Kissing his cheek, she murmured, "Knock her dead, tiger."

His smile widened and he stood up straighter. "Let's go kick some _Call of Duty_ butt!" he called out, high fiving everyone in his path as he headed for the doors leading outside.

_He's nothing if not resilient_.

"I looked at the can," Chuck whispered in Sarah's ear as they trailed behind everyone heading for the van that would drive them to the new Buy More. "The slogan is 'For the morning after the night before.'"

She had to slap her hand over her mouth to muffle the loud guffaw that wanted to escape. She climbed into the van—more accurately a shuttle bus to accommodate the eleven of them—and sat down, Chuck flopping down in the seat next to her.

After some additional teasing about needing to open the windows to be able to breathe, everyone took in the sights as they drove through central London to Tottenham Court Road. It wasn't a long drive, and it only took a few minutes before the van pulled up in front of the store. They tumbled from the van and stood on the sidewalk, looking at their surroundings. Unlike the big box stores in the States where there would be a large parking lot and a stand-alone building, this Buy More was on a busy street lined with similar electronic stores.

A long rectangular green sign with "Buy More" ran across the entire distance of the store above the windows. An A-frame sandwich board sign sat on the sidewalk on one side of the open front doors heralding the store's grand opening that day. A second white board on the other side of the door advertised the details of the tournament.

"Bartowski Family Gamers," Martie exclaimed, reading the letters scrawled across the bottom of one of the signs. "Hey! We're famous!"

"You are!" Morgan crowed. "Five teams from all over England are here to play against you today."

"So, no pressure or anything," Lisa said with a smirk. She stepped to the side as several people exited the store carrying green plastic bags and chatting excitedly.

Looking up at the sign above the entrance, Casey said, "This place looks pretty small."

Morgan scowled. "It does." Waving his clipboard, he shooed them into the store. "We should go in and see what's what."

Once inside, they saw the place was buzzing with activity. Customers strolled about, shopping and browsing. Off to the left side of the store, an area was reserved with six televisions and gaming stations, ready for the tournament. Several teams were already setting up.

Morgan shook hands with the Buy More brass in attendance before he called Chuck and Sarah over to meet them. The bosses were so far pleased with the way grand opening was progressing and looked forward to seeing of the effect of the tournament on sales. They were also greatly impressed with Sarah's new uniform, so much so that they couldn't keep their eyes off of her. They asked to have Bridget brought over to discuss the potential of her redesigning the men's uniforms as well.

Chuck, a beaming Bridget, and Morgan continued to chat with management while Sarah excused herself and went exploring with the kids. She was surprised at how big the store actually was. While it wasn't particularly wide, it was fairly deep. As they ventured further into the place, they found a set of escalators that carried customers to and from the upper level of the store.

"Whoa! It's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside," Fred said in awe, gazing around.

"I was thinking the same thing," a voice came from behind them.

Fred whirled around and stood face to face with Amy, the Scottish lass from the restaurant where the family ate dinner their first evening in London. "I… I…" was the only thing a stunned Fred could stammer.

Sarah saw potential disaster brewing as poor, tongue-tied Fred looked like he was on his way to a serious crash and burn. Before she could step in, Lizzie came to her brother's rescue. Smiling, she said, "Hi! I'm Lizzie and this is my brother, Fred."

When Amy smiled at him, Fred looked like he was about to collapse to the floor and die of happiness.

"You're Amy, right?" Lizzie asked.

She nodded. "It's nice to see you again," she said with a warm smile. "I'm excited to be here and ready to get playing. How about you?"

"I'm ready," Lizzie answered.

Amy looked to Fred. "How about you, Fred? Ready to play?"

He stared mutely at her. When Amy's smile wavered, Lizzie shot her an apologetic look and jabbed him with her elbow. Through gritted teeth she hissed, "Answer her question."

"I'm ready, too," he managed haltingly. Realizing that he had said three actual words to her without spontaneously combusting, his confidence grew. "What's the name of your team?" he asked.

"We're 'The Temporal Barons.'" She twisted and swept her hair over one shoulder to show them the team name adorning the back of her shirt in large white letters.

"Great name! I like that color blue, too," Fred said.

Amy's eyes twinkled with delight. "Thank you! I picked it out. If you weren't on your family's team, you'd fit right in with us."

"That'd be cool!" he said enthusiastically. His excitement faltered and his face twisted into a grimace when he looked down at the green polo shirt he was wearing. "We have to wear these lame green Buy More polo shirts."

"Oh, I don't know. I think you look nice," she replied.

Sarah, who had been watching the whole exchange from nearby, was pretty sure she could see Fred vibrating with exhilaration. She also couldn't understand how his face hadn't completely broken from his increasingly widening grins.

One of Amy teammates, a skinny, rather dour looking young man approached the three. "Fraternizing with the enemy?" he asked, shooting an unfriendly glower at Fred.

Amy rolled her eyes and huffed a breath. "Oi, Arthur. Be nice. This is the team from the States." Pointing to each in turn, she said, "This is Lizzie and that's Fred." Indicating her teammate, she said, "Arthur."

Eyeing them, Arthur said hopefully, "Are you two together, then?" It was obvious to all that he viewed Fred as an interloper.

Amy punched her teammate on the arm. "Not like that, you dope. They're brother and sister."

Arthur rubbed his arm and scowled. "You don't have to hit," he mumbled. To Lizzie and Fred, he said, "Well, all the same, good luck. Don't think I'm going to take it easy on you though."

"Bring it on," Fred replied in a steely voice.

Amy sighed and shoved Arthur to get him moving away. "Alright tough guy. Let's go." Over her shoulder, she called out, "Good luck!"

"Thanks, Amy. You too," Lizzie called back, fingering a wave at her. Once her niece and nephew were alone, Sarah joined them.

"I think you touched a nerve with Amy's teammate, Fred," Sarah said.

"He's going down," he grumbled, clearly aggravated.

Lizzie blew out a breath with a sigh. "Oh, the testosterone."

"At a video game tournament? Never!" Sarah teased.

Fred's visage cleared and he looked to his sister. He saluted her with a single head bob. "Thanks."

She nodded in return. "Welcome."

The warm sibling bonding moment was interrupted when the director of the tournament called for attention. He waited until all the teams assembled in their areas and then welcomed everyone to the contest. As he was relaying the instructions and rules, Chuck slid in to stand next to Sarah. Slipping an arm around her waist, he whispered in her ear, "Everything okay?"

"Mm-hmm. We're good."

The tournament was set up in the same fashion as the tournament they had participated in in Colorado: best two out of three games of 'Capture the Flag' and 'Team Deathmatch'. A cheer rose from the teams when it was announced that each would receive a Buy More gift card for participating. For each round a team advanced, they would receive an additional gift card. There was unhappy grumbling from some of the members of the Bartowski Family Gamers when they were informed that they were exempt from the gift card prizes. However, their attitudes quickly changed when they were reminded that Buy More was paying for them to be on the trip in the first place. The only real disappointment came to Martie and Megan when they were informed that they weren't allowed to be spotters. Like before, they were appointed team mascots and chief cheerleaders.

As the tournament progressed, Morgan checked in with the managers of the store. During the dinner break and before the championship match, he was thrilled to report to Sarah and Chuck that so far, the tournament was an unmitigated success. The raucous noise and cheering from the teams and spectators had spilled out into the street and passersby were drawn into the store to find out what all the excitement was about. The Buy More brass beamed with delight.

"Congratulations, buddy," Chuck said, slapping his friend on the back.

"I guess they won't be sending us home from here, then, huh?" Sarah asked.

"Nope," Morgan said with a mixture of pride and relief. "Tomorrow, we head for Paris. But in the meantime, how's it going with the Bartowski Family Gamers? You're in the championship match, right? You gonna win this?"

Casey walked up and joined the group. "So far, we've slaughtered all the teams we've played. They don't know how to work as teams like we do," he said proudly. "Superior American strategies and execution."

Chuck snorted and Sarah rolled her eyes.

"It's true," Casey groused. Glancing toward the Temporal Barons, he added, "That team with the redhead Fred's all ga-ga over is pretty good, though."

"And that's who we play in the finals," Sarah informed him. "We'll need to watch Fred's back." They eyed Arthur shooting daggers across the room at Fred as he sat with Amy on the floor in the DVD section laughing and talking as they ate their dinners of fish and chips. "That one kid has it out for him."

Arthur's scowl deepened when Amy held her phone out and took a picture of her and Fred, heads together and smiling at the camera.

"I guess that Lynx stuff works after all," Chuck said with a laugh.

Sarah snorted. "Yeah, it has nothing to do with his genuine warmth, charm and winning personality."

"Nope, it's all about the product."

"You didn't use any of that stuff with me," Sarah pointed out.

"No, that's because with _me_ it had _everything_ to do with my warmth, charm and winning personality."

Casey grimaced like he'd just caught a whiff of rotten eggs. Morgan simply shook his head and wandered away.

"Was it something I said?" Chuck asked with feigned hurt.

"Everything you said was the truth," Sarah said, putting a hand on the side of his face and giving him a quick kiss. "Now, let's go capture that flag.

Both teams settled back into their stations. Sarah was right that they needed to watch Fred's back. Arthur spent the whole first game doing nothing but trying to take him out. Consequently, Amy's team was in disarray and the Bartowski Family Gamers won. During the second game, Arthur got in a lucky shot and dispatched Fred. The retaliation by Fred's siblings was swift and efficient. Much to Arthur's obvious horror, he was taken out by a grenade lobbed at him by none other than the youngest person in the tournament, Bridget. However, since the kids were so focused on getting Arthur, they didn't stick to the game plan and the Bartowskis went down in defeat.

Both teams, having learned their lessons, stayed focused and executed their strategies brilliantly as they played a final game of 'Capture the Flag.' The air crackled with tension as each team tried to outmaneuver the other. The cheering and shouting grew louder with each passing moment. It reached a fever pitch when Amy's avatar snatched the Bartowski Family Gamers' flag and took off. Fred, who was in the best position to do so, responded by heading for the Temporal Baron's flag to stop her before she could get there. Everyone in the store, including the managers and Buy More corporate brass, was enthralled, shouting and urging the players on.

A huge cheer went up for the home team when Amy managed to dodge all enemy gunfire, including Fred's last ditch effort, and run over her team's flag, winning not only the game, but the match and tournament. Her eyes glistened with excitement as she grinned through fingers that covered her lips. Her teammates surrounded her, hugging her and patting her on the back.

After their initial groans of disappointment, the whole family went over to congratulate the winning team.

"You were great, Amy. Congrats," Fred said.

His grin was as big as Amy's when, in her excitement, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "Thank you!" she said, her face radiant.

Sarah slipped her hand into Chuck's. Tipping her head toward Fred and Amy, she asked, "How long will it be before he comes to his senses?"

They watched as the teenagers stepped back from the hug and exchange iPhones. Heads bent, their thumbs tapped over the screens before handing the phones back to each other. "After that? I'm not sure he'll _ever_ come to his senses."

Sarah's eyebrows knit together. "Why? What just happened?"

"I might be wrong, but I believe they just gave each other their phone numbers, e-mail addresses, Twitter handles, Tumblr site names and 'friended' each other on Facebook. Remind me when we get back to Colorado to check on what kind of international calling and texting plan we have. If this is going to happen in every city we go to, the phone bill alone might put us in the poor house."

After considering this, she nodded. "I think we're safe with Martie and Megan, for now anyway."

"Don't be so sure. There's probably some poor six-year-old French kid out there who won't know what hit him," Chuck speculated.

Watching a spying Megan peek out from her hiding place behind the Nerd Herd desk, Sarah sighed and replied, "You're right. Only in Megan's case, it's literal."

~ O ~

The short ride back to the hotel after the tournament was mostly quiet. It was late and the long, exciting day had worn everyone out. Any conversation came in short, whispered spurts.

Casey sat next to Fred at the back of the van, an unlit cigar held between two fingers. His eyelids hooded as he looked down at Fred, who stared pensively out a window. "Was it worth it?" the big man asked.

Turning from the window, Fred scrunched his face in question. "Was _what_ worth it?"

"Putting up with all kinds of crap from your brother and sisters in order to get the attention of a girl. Having that kid on her team glare at you like he wanted to rip out your spleen and stomp on it." He snorted. "Smelling like _that_ all day."

Crossing his arms, the boy gazed into Casey's face. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"'Cause you're all wrapped around the axel over a girl you'll probably never lay eyes on again."

Fred shrugged and remained silent.

They bounced in their seats as they rode through the dark streets of London, neither saying a word. As the shuttle bus neared the hotel, Casey ruefully uttered a single word. "Redheads."

A slow, lopsided smile grew on Fred's face. "Yeah. It was totally worth it."

~ O ~

The next morning, the London sky was grey and rainy as the family repacked their suitcases and trundled them down to the shuttle bus that transported them to St. Pancras International where they would catch their train to Paris. They entered the station and made their way through the crowds in their usual teams of two. A new wrinkle was the added to the day as each traveler, except for the two youngest girls, had to handle his or her own luggage. Sarah couldn't help but snicker at the incongruous image of the fearsome and intimidating John Casey rolling Martie's pink suitcase behind him as he carried his own giant Marine issue duffle bag over his shoulder.

"Uncle Casey, your bag's big enough to carry a dead body in it," Curtis said, walking beside him.

"Who says it hasn't?" came the quick response.

Curtis faltered and nearly stumbled to the floor. Lisa grabbed at the back of her brother's shirt and yanked. "Thanks for sharing," she said dryly.

They had some time to kill, so they decided to explore. The lower level of the station was extremely crowded, so they ventured to the upper level where the crowds were thinner. It also afforded them a better view of the magnificent building which had recently been renovated to its former Victorian glory. Red brick walls surrounded them on three sides. These walls were decorated at regular intervals by brick columns connected at the tops of each by arches of alternating red and white bricks. On the wall at the far end of the building, the arches were actual doorways that led into shops or restaurants. Above each doorway were similar and smaller arches. These small arches held windows, each consisting of two long rectangular panes of glass and ornate detailing at the top.

"This building is beautiful," Sarah said, gazing up at the high, curving roof. Column after column of wrought-iron painted the color of the sky soared overhead, arching from one side of the building to the other. Support beams ran the length of the roof, making a lattice design of intricate ironwork connecting each beam and column. The whole roof was covered with glass. It was simply stunning.

Sarah was still looking up as the group turned to left at the top of the stairs. They walked a short distance and then came to a sudden stop. All except Sarah, who wasn't looking where she was going and bumped into the back of Curtis. Everyone else stood rooted to the floor, head tipped back and mouths gaping open.

"Uh… wha—?" Fred said, completely astonished.

"Whoa!" Morgan added eloquently.

Glancing over her shoulder at Chuck and Sarah, Lizzie asked with humor edging into her voice, "When did you two pose for a giant statute?"

Standing before them was a huge bronze statue, thirty feet tall, of a man and woman embracing as if they were meeting again after a long absence from each other. The man, dressed in a suit and dress shoes, wore a small backpack slung over his shoulders. One hand rested at the small of the woman's back and seemed to press her close to him. His other hand was alight higher up on her back. The sculpted movement of the woman's skirt made it appear as if she was stepping into his embrace.

"Hey, look!" Lisa pointed. "See where the lady has a hand on the side of his face? Aunt Sarah does that all the time!" The group walked slowly to the base of the statue.

"Yeah, and they're staring deep into each other eyes," Curtis said, dropping his voice dramatically.

"We're both standing right here, guys," Chuck called out. Sarah could only chuckle.

"I think it's romantic," Bridget answered her brother, completely ignoring their uncle and aunt. "I like the way she's got her arm draped around his neck like that."

"They look like they're about to kiss," Martie piped up.

"Like we haven't seen that a million times," Fred said, rolling his eyes.

"Hey! I don't think it's a million times. Maybe a thousand," Sarah said with a smile. "Right, sweetie?"

Chuck snuck an arm around her waist and pulled her body to his. Throwing one arm around his neck, she gently caressed his cheek with her hand. Their faces were inches from each other. He gazed into her eyes and replied, "That sounds about right."

Sitting on one of the nearby benches lined up along a glass partition, a little girl about Martie's age pointed and shouted, "Look! It's the people from the statue for real!"

The girl's pronouncement caused all the kids to nearly fall over with laughter. Chuck and Sarah's faces pinked, but their slight embarrassment didn't stop them from giving each other a sweet kiss. All eyes in the area were on them and their embrace, with everyone cheering and clapping.

"Aw, crap," Casey groaned. "That's only gonna egg them on."

The kiss ended. Chuck's face turned a deeper shade of crimson even as Sarah felt the heat rising in her own. After he sent the crowd a small, embarrassed wave, the cheering ended and everyone returned to what they were doing before.

"At least now you two know what we see all the time," Lizzie advised them, indicating the statue with an upturned palm.

Chuck looked up at the bronze figures and then back to his wife. Winking at her, he said, "Well, if I'm going to be immortalized for all eternity, this is definitely how I want it to be done."

This time, all the kids joined Casey in groaning. "You should fit in nicely with the French, Bartowski."

"Why's that?"

"They love their cheese too."

Casey's smirk was cut short by a glare from Sarah. "I think it's sweet," she protested. Giving her partner a devilish smile, she said, "I think Chuck and I deserve an extra block of PDA time for that snarky comment."

"No way, Walker. That little demonstration you gave us just now should at least make us even."

Peering at him for a long moment, she finally answered, "Fine. We'll call it even."

"Good, now that that's settled, we'd better head back downstairs and get checked in," Chuck said. Casey started to move toward the stairs but was stopped by a frowning Martie tugging on his pants. The little girl held her arms out and indicated she wanted to be picked up. The NSA agent obliged and Sarah watched the two walk off, Martie murmuring in Casey's ear. Concentrating, she heard Casey's muttered responses.

"What? Oh, I know I'm not supposed to call her that… Because it's confusing, that's why… Yes, I _know_ she belongs to you… Well, she's not my aunt, is she…? Well, she doesn't call me by my first name, either… I do _not_ sound like a six year old… I do not…" The rest of Casey's replies to Martie's admonishments went unheard as they reached the busier and noisier lower level.

The group meandered their way through the crowds until they reached the Eurostar check in area. Once they navigated security, passport control and customs, they entered the departure lounge to wait.

"There's a few empty seats over there," Chuck said, taking Sarah's hand and tugging her toward a bench. The rest of the group found places to sit around them—on benches, on the floor, on top of their suitcase—anyplace to while away the time.

They each kept a watchful eye on the kids scattered around them. "I'm really excited about Paris," Chuck said. "I've always wanted to go."

"Me, too," she answered.

He gave her a funny look. "What do you mean? You were just there a few months ago. And I'm sure you've been there lots of times before that."

She cocked her head to one side. "That's true, but whenever I was there, it was always work related." When his eyebrows went up in question, she said, "I'll tell you about those trips some day, but for now let's just say I've never experienced Paris like we will this time."

He nodded. "I assume you've never been to Paris with a husband, seven kids, a prickly NSA agent and his bearded 'life partner'."

That last comment elicited from her a hearty laugh. "What about you? How come you never visited Paris?"

He lifted her hand from her lap and held it in both of his. "I never had the right person in my life to share it with. Now I do," he said simply.

Her heart melted. "You're incredibly adorable and I love you," she said, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"Watch that unscheduled PDA, Wa-Bartowski. You start singing, 'You Light Up My Life' and I'll—" Casey's threat was cut off by an announcement over a loudspeaker that their train was ready to board. Everyone scrambled to their feet, grabbed their luggage and assembled together. They strode up the gently sloping moving walkway to the platform, found the correct car and boarded. As much as they had enjoyed their time in London and vowed to someday return, they were all excited to see what adventures Paris held for them.

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: The statue is called _The Meeting Place_ by Paul Day. Google it if you'd like to see images. I was going to give you some links to take a look, but the site won't allow it without making them indecipherable.


	18. La Vie D'amour

**A/N**: First off, thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, following, PMing, tweeting. You all are the best.

I'd like to give a big thank you to **Crumby**, the Frenchiest of persons. She graciously helped us make sure we didn't completely mangle her beautiful language. (If there is any mangling which remains, the fault is mine.) To her, I send her a virtual baguette and a grateful _merci_.

And who is this "we" I'm talking about? Not the royal "we." I'm speaking of **AgentInWaiting**, of course, my co-conspirator and beta. I've said this before, and I'll say it again: this story would not be what it is without his thoughtful suggestions, guidance and input. You, sir, also get a virtual baguette and a grateful _merci_.

In the last chapter, there was a statue I referenced and wanted to link to on this site. Due to their spam filters, I was unable to do so. At the suggestion of AgentInWaiting, I started a blog so I can post pictures of some of the places the family visits on their trip. There's already some other fun stuff posted over there connected with this universe. It's Chuckvssom dot blogspot dot com. Hope to see you there.

**Chapter 18 - La Vie D'amour**

The words swam on the page as Sarah struggled to keep her eyes from crossing. The book she was trying to read—one of Chuck's favorites and beloved the world over—was putting her to sleep. Again. The rhythmic motion of the train gently rocking her wasn't helping either. Knowing that another stanza of poetry recounting the history of the mystical land would put her out completely, she slipped a bookmark between the pages, closed the book and set it on the small table in front of her. She blinked a couple of times and gulped some water from a bottle to help shake the drowsiness from her brain. Directly across the small table from her, Megan sat playing with Spy Barbie and GI Joe. Next to Megan, Martie meticulously rubbed a crayon on a page of a coloring book. The rest of the kids, along with Morgan and Casey were seated around them either sleeping, reading or listening to music.

They had passed through the Channel Tunnel and were now streaking across the French countryside at over a hundred miles an hour. Golden fields of rapeseed flowers blanketed the earth, producing a riot of color. Beyond the fields, farming villages—with houses clustered around spired churches—dotted the landscape.

"That book has lots of words, doesn't it, Aunt Sarah?" Megan said, bending Barbie's and Joe's knees so they could sit at the edge of the table.

"It does. And it doesn't have any pictures, either," she replied with mock sadness, prompting a snicker from Megan. Sarah winked at her, dug into her purse and pulled out one of the three packages of crackers they'd purchased at the station. The other two had been distributed to the other members of the group and were being passed back and forth across the aisle. At least that was the plan. It was more than likely the snacks weren't being shared as freely as she hoped they would be. But until someone made issue of it, she would let things lie. She opened the bag and set it on the table. Immediately, two little hands shot out and snagged handfuls of crackers.

Sarah grabbed one for herself and nibbled while she watched Megan play. The little girl muttered under her breath, carrying on the dolls' conversation in a whisper and pretending to feed them bites of her snack.

"What are Joe and Barbie up to today?" Sarah asked.

"They're on a train. They've decided to quit being spies and run away together," Megan informed her in a matter-of-fact tone.

"What? Why would they stop being spies?"

Megan scowled. "Because it's against the spy rules for them to be in love."

_That sounds vaguely familiar_, she thought wryly. "That's a pretty big step. Are they sure they want to do that?"

"At first Joe wasn't too sure. He can be kinda dopey sometimes. But then he thought about how disappointed Barbie would be if he didn't go with her, so they ran away."

"I hope it works out for them."

Megan took another bite of her cracker and chewed thoughtfully. "It will," the girl said with great confidence. "Barbie's too good of a spy for them not to let her be one and in love, too."

"What about Joe? I thought he was a good spy, too," she said, now working hard to not burst out laughing.

Megan popped a shoulder up and down. "He's okay, but not as good as Barbie. She's teaching him to be better at it."

"Good for her."

Chuck, who sat in seat next to her, blew out a frustrated breath. Shifting in her seat a little, she looked his way. He scowled at the screen of his open laptop that sat atop the table.

"What's the matter? You lose at Tetris?" she teased.

His frown was lessened by the hint of a smile. "Very good, Mrs. Bartowski," he said, eyeing her appreciatively. "You've become quite the nerd. I'm so proud." She bowed her head in acknowledgement. "I wish I was playing Tetris. I'm going over the code you liberated from our friend the other night. It's scary."

She tensed at his use of the word "scary" and the back of her neck prickled. "Why do you say that?"

"It's almost as if the Fulcrum guy who wrote this—what was his name?" Chuck queried.

"Kingston."

"Right, Kingston. It's as if he had a copy of my software in front of him to work from. I suppose he could have reverse engineered my code and then written a lot of this to counteract it, but I like to think my take on encryption is pretty unique. Some coders might be able to get around bits and pieces of Project Sun Ray—kinda like whoever worked for Benoit did—but this is much more than that."

"It's bad?" she asked quietly.

A sick feeling churned in the pit of her stomach when she looked into his face. The eyes that were almost always full of humor were now void of their usual twinkle. "I'd use the word 'comprehensive.'"

Sarah took a deep breath and blew it out slowly as she came to understand the implications of Chuck's concern. "You think someone—a Fulcrum mole in the CIA—gave Kingston the software?"

"Probably," he answered, running a hand through his hair. "We need to tell Graham about this."

"We will. As soon as we get settled at the hotel, we'll call him." She rested a hand on his arm. "He'll want to know how long it will take for you to write countermeasures to the Kingston software in case Fulcrum tries to distribute it again."

"You mean, "if" I can counteract his code," he corrected her.

She gave him a "seriously?" stare she had seen the kids give each other constantly.

Chuck snorted. "Fine. I can fix it." He paused and then smiled warmly, the light returning to his eyes. "I love that you have such confidence in me."

"Hey, I _know_ I married the King of the Nerds," Sarah replied, attempting to keep her giggles to a minimum.

He snorted again. "Where were you in high school when my Playstation hacking abilities were sadly ignored by the entire female population?" He shook his head. "Anyways, what Kingston's done is pretty good, but my code is flexible. I can close down what his modifications attempted to do and add a few new wrinkles of my own for them to deal with." He thought for a moment and answered, "I should have something ready in a week."

"I hope you're taking into account the times when we're out sightseeing with our family. This is important, Chuck, and Graham might want you to cancel the vacation. Fletcher is in custody, and I've got to think that it will take a little time before Fulcrum can get the software to another group but..."

"And by then, I can have the patched one ready to go," he reassured her. "Graham has to know by now that we're not going to agree to be separated. If he sends me back home that'll be the end of the Benoit mission. We'll just emphasize he can keep it going if he's willing to wait just a little while extra for the new code."

She nodded. "I don't know how much good it will do, though. We'll just keep doing this back and forth business if we don't—"

"—find out who the mole is giving Kingston the software."

"Yeah," she said, frowning.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "You've already taken care of one Fulcrum mole. This one is someone else's problem. Besides, you're already looking for Benoit and my parents."

He was right, of course, but she was still thinking about the problem. "If they can get Fletcher to give up the mole, that would plug the leak."

"You still need to get Kingston, though," a small voice said across from them. Both their attention snapped to Megan as she held Spy Barbie and GI Joe together, making them dance across the table.

"And why is that?" Sarah asked.

"Even if you find the mole, Kingston will keep trying to mess with Uncle Chuck's computer stuff anyway," she said, her eyes locked on her dolls.

"She's right, you know," Chuck said. The gravity in his voice was belied by the unadulterated pride and amusement shining on his face.

Sarah put her elbow on the table and plunked her chin in her palm. "Fletcher needs to talk."

"Maybe they should have Uncle Casey talk to him," Martie suggested. "He's pretty good at getting people to do stuff when he looks at them like this." She tipped her head down, knit her eyebrows together and stared out from under them. At the same time, she dropped her voice and made a grunting noise.

"I think, Martie," Chuck said with a huge smile, "that we wouldn't need Uncle Casey to do it. You look and sound pretty intimidating yourself."

"Mm-hmm," Sarah agreed. "That Fletcher guy would talk just like that," she said, snapping her fingers.

Martie beamed at the compliments.

"I bet I could get him to talk too," Megan piped up, never wanting to be left out.

"I'm sure you could," Sarah said. "You got me to talk yesterday morning. Remember?"

Megan's face was solemn when she nodded and said, "Everyone talks."

~ O ~

The train slid into Paris Gare du Nord station a little after noon. Sarah took the lead as they disembarked and entered the main concourse. After withdrawing euros from an ATM, they were informed by all of the kids—and Morgan—that they refused to go another step until they got to eat something. Once food and drinks were devoured, Sarah purchased Métro tickets for everyone and led the family to the subway. She demonstrated how to use a ticket to go through the automated gate. She'd studied a map of the Métro system on the train from London, so she knew which line they needed to be on to get to their hotel. However, she double-checked their route before they headed for the correct platform.

Once they reached the platform, she counted heads for the twentieth time that day. As she did so, she noticed the older kids seemed a bit overwhelmed. There wasn't the usual teasing and joking around that normally accompanied them whenever they went anywhere.

Chuck dipped his head when Sarah stood on her tiptoes to speak into his ear. "Is everything okay with the kids?"

He glanced at them and nodded. "I think they're a little disoriented, is all. It's the first time they've been someplace where they're hearing something other than English being spoken all around them."

"That makes sense." She eyed him. "What about you? Are you feeling that way, too?"

"A little. But with you as my tour guide, I'm not worried."

She wasn't able to respond since a Métro train came to a stop and a number of people stepped off. They boarded the train and as it wasn't rush hour and the car wasn't packed, found places to sit. Chuck settled down next to his wife and laid an arm loosely across the top of the back of her seat.

Once the doors closed and the train began to move, Sarah noticed the kids began to visibly relax. After a couple of minutes, conversations started between them and smiles began to appear. She supposed that their earlier apprehension was most likely a combination of the language barrier and the inherent stressful atmosphere of a busy train station. And Paris Gare du Nord was very busy. Now in a calmer environment, they loosened up.

Relieved that the kids were doing better, Sarah continued the thread of her conversation with Chuck. "You had to have learned a foreign language in high school."

"Well, I took the classes, although I'm pretty sure 'learned' isn't the best way to put it," he corrected. "I can butcher Spanish with the best of them." He gave her a broad smile. "I did learn some conversational Klingon."

She patted his thigh. "Of course you did." _My nerd_. "So you don't know any French at all?"

"Other than a few basic words, no." He moved toward to her and dropped his voice as low as he could while still being heard over the ambient noise of the train. "Well, there was this one girl in high school who taught me a couple of phrases. They might be perfectly innocent. They might get me arrested. My money is on them most likely getting me slapped."

"What?" she laughed. "What makes you think that? Didn't she tell you what they meant?"

"Oh, sure. I'm not convinced she was telling the truth, though. She and her friends," he paused to choose his words carefully, "weren't very nice to people like Morgan and me." They both glanced over at the bearded man reading a comic book. Looking back at her, his eyes twinkled when he said, "This might shock you, honey, but I was a bit of a nerd in high school."

She snorted. Across the way, Lizzie gave them a bored look and then rolled her eyes. "Shocked? You ruined the surprise when you boasted about your 'Playstation hacking' skills, sweetie." Sarah replied with a chuckle. After a moment of silence, she finally said, "So, tell me these phrases."

He shot her a dubious look. "I don't think so. You're a heavily armed and dangerous woman, Mrs. Bartowski. I don't want to take the chance of offending you."

"I can take it. I can control myself." She pointed to her ear. "Just whisper."

He heaved a sigh in defeat. The arm draped behind her back pulled her closer. He hadn't even said anything, yet when he crossed one leg over the other and rolled his whole lanky body toward hers, a shiver shot through her. When he gently hooked a bit of blonde hair behind her ear with a finger, electricity sparked between them. Her breathing grew shallow when his lips touched the exposed ear. He didn't say a word, apparently trying to build up the anticipation. It worked. She could feel her heart beat thump harder as the seconds passed.

As he whispered the first phrase, the excitement of a moment before disappeared and disgust began to churn in her stomach. His pronunciation was bad, as was expected, but she understood. She wasn't angry with him, of course. He was simply parroting syllables that meant nothing to him. That girl wasn't very nice, though, she quickly decided, teaching a sweet, harmless kid like Chuck to say such foul things about his own mother. _ She'd better hope I never meet her at his class reunion_.

When he finished speaking, he asked, "What does it mean?"

She shook her head emphatically. "I'm not going to tell you."

"That bad?" he asked, his eyebrows rising in question.

Pressing her lips together, she nodded. "That bad. Wipe it from your memory."

"You got it," he said without hesitation. "It's forgotten. Those words will never again pass these lips."

In the renewed silence, her curiosity began to build once again. "Are you going to tell me the other phrase?" she questioned.

"Oh, no! Not after whatever filth came out of my mouth last time."

"Come on," she cajoled. "Maybe it's not that bad."

"Really," he stated dryly.

"Okay, it probably is. But at least you'll know," she said, giving him her most radiant smile.

"Or at least _you'll_ know," he corrected. When she bounced her eyebrows at him, she watched his will to stay silent completely crumble. "You fight dirty," he grumbled good-naturedly. "You know I can never say no to you."

Still grinning, she waggled her eyebrows again, triggering a deep rumble in his chest. "Fine."

Upon hearing the next phrase he whispered, her eyes rounded and her jaw dropped with shock. "That girl had quite a vocabulary," she chuckled.

"What?" he asked, shifting in his seat. "What did I say?"

She leaned into him and whispered in his ear. His face did exactly what hers had done a moment before. Only he furiously blushed as well. "So I should forget that phrase, too?"

"Oh, I never said that. The only person you can ever, _ever_ say that to is me, though." She eyed him coyly. "And only if you intend to follow through with it."

The rumble in his chest grew louder.

~ O ~

After a quick change of lines on the Métro, they arrived at their hotel in the Opéra district and checked in. Chuck and Sarah stood together in the doorway of their room and stared into the small space as Megan zipped past their legs and flopped onto the mattress on the floor next to the bed. Sarah swallowed down the surge of disappointment she felt. Megan would be sleeping three feet away from them. Again. There was no question that she would put the needs of the kids above her own—Megan needed a place to sleep, after all—but she had to admit to herself that she was craving some "alone time" with her husband. She heaved a deep sigh and mumbled under her breath, "Maybe the next hotel…"

"Yeah," Chuck breathed.

"I didn't mean to say that out loud," she whispered, mortified that he had heard her. "That sounded awful."

He shook his head. "No, it didn't. I had the same reaction you did," he said softly. He rolled their suitcases into the room just as the door to the adjoining room flew open and Martie appeared.

"Hey! This is almost the same as the hotel in London." She scrunched her face in thought and then added, "Only here, everything on TV is in French." Beckoning her sister, she called out, "Megan, come see."

The little one jumped up from her mattress and zoomed into the other room.

Chuck made a face and scratched his forehead. "Maybe we should move the mattress into the girls' room." Smiling at her suggestively, he murmured, "We'll tell them we need to move her out because Megan's snoring keeps us awake."

"No, Chuck, it's okay," she sighed, reaching out and straightening his collar. She gave him a small smile and looked into his eyes. "We'll survive."

"Speak for yourself," he said wryly. She kissed his cheek and patted him on the chest. Stepping away from him, she lifted her suitcase onto the bed and opened it.

"At the rate we're going, our 'public displays' are going to become more and more 'affectionate,'" he mused. "I wonder what the French consider 'indecent.' Whatever it is, I'm sure it would be worth being thrown into the Bastille for."

Taking a few things from her suitcase, she carried them into the bathroom and answered, "The Bastille was torn down over two hundred years ago."

"Hey! Even better!" he crowed. "Then we can't end up there!"

She smirked as she walked past him. "There _are_ regular jails in France, you know."

"Just saying it would be worth—" His thought was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Bet it's Morgan—"

"—and his clipboard," Sarah finished.

Chuck opened the door and sure enough, there was Morgan and his ever-present clipboard. He looked stressed as he entered their room. "Hey, Chuck, Sarah. We have a slight," he gestured with thumb and forefinger millimeters from each other, "problem."

"Yeah, buddy, what's that?" Chuck asked.

"There was a screw up with the reservations. We're short one room." He nervously pulled at his collar. Sarah suddenly had a sinking feeling that only grew worse when he confirmed her fears. "Casey's."

Chuck winced, a grimace contorting his face. "Ooooooo."

"Can't they just get him another room?" Sarah asked.

Morgan shook his head. "I asked, but the hotel's booked solid. Today's Friday and with the weekend, nothing's available. Anywhere."

"He'll have to stay with you and the boys, then," Chuck said.

"Yeah, I told him that and he, um, did that thing where he glared at me and flared his nostrils. You know, like the bull in that one Bugs Bunny cartoon when—"

"Not now, Morgan," Chuck said, cutting him off. "We're all familiar with the many faces of John Casey's anger."

"Right. Sorry. The problem is there are only two beds in our room. In London, as much as they hated it, Fred and Curtis slept together in one and I slept in the other."

Sarah put a hand up to her forehead. "There's no way he's going to sleep in a bed with another guy. He'd rather sleep upright in a chair." She thought for a moment. "Or not at all."

"Yeah, 'cause sleep deprived Casey would be soooo fun," Morgan said sarcastically.

"Well, he certainly can't sleep with us or the girls," Chuck said firmly. "What about Vegas and Barstow's room?"

Sarah turned that suggestion over in her mind. "That might work."

"Make them sleep in the same bed and give Casey the other one?" Morgan suggested hopefully.

"Maybe, but I don't think it will come to that," Sarah answered slowly, thinking through the logistics. "They rotate duty shifts throughout the night, so one of the beds will always be empty. Casey sleeps in one and the other two agents swap in and out of the other."

Morgan looked so relieved that Sarah thought he might collapse with happiness any second. His giddiness soon evaporated, however. "Chuck, Sarah, you have to talk to him. He might kill me."

Sarah managed to keep from rolling her eyes. "Sure, Morgan. We'll take care of it."

"Awww, man. Thank you!" the bearded man said gratefully. Now that the crisis had passed, he glanced at his watch and then ran a finger across the top page of his clipboard. "We're leaving for the Eiffel Tower in fifteen minutes."

"Roger that," Chuck grinned, his eyes shining like it was Christmas morning.

Morgan nodded once and then shot out the door.

"You look pretty excited," Sarah said, earning an eager nod from her husband. "We'll call Graham and then we can go. I hope it lives up to your expectations."

"With the love of my life with me, how could it not?"

She blushed and started to smile, "Chuck, that's so–"

"I'm talking about Morgan, of course."

Sarah's eyes narrowed and a devious smile quirked on her face. She pulled out her phone and started to walk toward the door. "I'm sure you two will be very happy together. Of course, you'll have to fight Casey for Morgan's affections, but I'm sure it will all work out. I'll just let Graham know that you and Morgan will be happy to fly back to the U.S. together after your romantic evening at the Tower so you can work on the code. I'll stay here with the kids." She swept out of the hotel room.

"Aw honey, you know I'm kidding." Chuck hurriedly followed his rapidly departing wife, almost tripping over his own feet as he did so. "Honey? Sweetheart? _Crap._"

~ O ~

It was a short walk to the Métro station that would carry them to the Eiffel Tower. Since their hotel was right in the middle of a shopping district, Lizzie and especially Bridget had to be nearly dragged along the street as all they wanted to do was stop in every shop and boutique along the way. Only after Sarah promised them they would find time to do some proper shopping did they keep up with the rest of the family.

The station had grown a bit more crowded now that it was mid afternoon and several people waited on the platform with the Bartowski/Woodcomb clan. Since Fred and Curtis couldn't stop messing around with each other as they waited—they were engaged in a "flicking war"—Chuck had to physically stand between them while Sarah, Morgan and Casey waited with the girls. When the train came to a stop and the doors slid open, Chuck and the boys were closest to the car, so they boarded first. They were followed onto the train by the girls, Morgan and then finally Casey and Sarah. A couple of young men stepped onto the train just behind her.

The doors were about to close when Sarah felt a hard jerk on the strap of her purse. Having learned long ago to never to let her purse hang loose over her shoulder, her fingers had a firm grip on the strap. She let the force of the yank spin her around and came face-to-face with her would be purse-snatcher.

Several of the passengers realized what was happening and shouted to alert Sarah. _"Voleur!"_ They knew what he was up to. He had planned to grab the purse and simply step off the train just as the doors closed. Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong woman to steal from.

With the purse and strap stretched taut between them, Sarah whirled back around in the other direction and yanked hard, hauling him toward her. She bent her knee and rammed it into his gut. The fearsome blow forced the air to rush violently from his lungs. Drops of saliva spewed from his mouth when groaned and doubled over in pain. She laced her fingers together and raised her locked hands over her head. With most of her strength behind it, she delivered a solid strike to the back of his neck. He crashed face first to the floor with a thud. He rolled onto his side and pulled his knees to his chest and gasped for air.

Unexpectedly, Sarah was thrown against the back wall of the car when the train jerked as it pulled away from the station. Chuck sprang to her side while Casey stood over the purse-snatcher and glared.

"Are you okay?" Chuck asked, his face the picture of concern as he put an arm around her waist to help steady her.

"I'm fine," she answered, getting her feet under her. Chuck quickly picked her purse up from where it had been dropped and handed it to her.

Meanwhile, the passengers who had watched the beautiful blonde American dispatch the bandit with two quick and highly effective blows stared at her in a mix of fear, shock, admiration and wonder.

"Get up, you thief," Casey growled, grabbing the guy by the back of the shirt and hauling him up. "Curtis, move," he ordered with a jerk of his head.

Curtis immediately obeyed, leaping to his feet and moving away from the seat. The purse-snatcher's legs were like cooked spaghetti, so Casey dragged him to the vacated seat and unceremoniously dropped him there. The back of the man's head thumped hard against the window behind him. He was now breathing a bit easier, but his eyes were closed and a large red lump began to swell on his forehead.

Casey glanced at Sarah. "You got some plastic cuffs? I didn't bring any with me." He threw his shoulder's back. "Should have known a couple of Americans would have to be the ones to keep these subways safe," he groused.

Dirty glares were shot their way from the occupants of the car who understood English. Chuck smiled weakly and said apologetically, "Excuse him. He's from Texas."

"Ah, _oui_," came the knowing response from several passengers.

The big man glared at him. "I wish you'd stop—"

"Here," Sarah said, cutting off his protest.

He took the proffered handcuffs and secured the thief's hands around a metal rail next to the seat.

"What do we do with him now?" Fred asked, his eyes shining from all the excitement. "Should we stay with him until the police come?"

Sarah and Casey gave each other pointed looks. Neither wanted to have to explain the situation to the local authorities. "No, we can't do that," Sarah answered quietly. Then, for the benefit of the watching passengers, she shook her head, tapped her watch, and announced, "_Je ne veux pas manquer de voir la belle Tour Eiffel._" Nodding heads greeted her pronouncement, along with a few grumbled, "_Ils sont fous ces tourists._"

"How will they know why this guy is handcuffed to a pole?" Curtis wondered.

Lisa's face brightened with inspiration. "Aunt Sarah, do you have any paper?"

She nodded and fished for the small notepad she always carried with her, usually for when Megan or Martie—and occasionally Chuck—were bored and needed to doodle. Sarah held the pad and a pen to Lisa who shook her head and waved them away. Instead, she leaned toward her aunt and whispered in her ear. Sarah smiled her agreement and quickly jotted down the words her niece dictated.

Once finished, Sarah tore off the paper, folded it in half and tucked it into the collar of the man's t-shirt.

"What does it say?" Bridget asked, looking to her sister.

"Aunt Sarah translated it into French, but it basically says, 'Arrest me. I am a thief who steals women's purses. I am a huge douchebag and deserve to be punished.'"

Snickers erupted and heads nodded with approval.

"Nice," Fred said, grinning at his sister. She smirked her thanks.

Sarah watched as Chuck raised his gaze and searched the upper part of the train car looking for cameras. Then he sidled up to her and put his head next to hers. "I'm going to have to hack into the Métro security system, aren't I?"

"No, you shouldn't, actually. The authorities will need to see what he did and use it as evidence."

His face fell in disappointment.

Sarah huffed an amused sigh. "You can download a copy."

~ O ~

Their captured wrongdoer began to come to his senses as they approached the École Militaire Métro stop. When he realized the seriousness of his predicament, he launched into a red faced profanity-laced tirade. Sarah was glad to know that she was the only member of the family who understood him. As it was the kids seemed a bit overwhelmed by the vehemence of his words. Casey immediately took issue with the man's screaming fit and took action. The diatribe came to a swift end when he towered over the man and menacingly punched a fist into his palm several times.

Any concerns Sarah might have had regarding traumatizing the kids when they observed her using her skills to take out the purse-snatcher were quickly laid to rest. Much like their response after the altercation at the Rusty Spittoon where she returned home sporting a cut lip, the kids thought what they had just witnessed was the coolest thing ever. As they left the station and strode down the street, they bounced with excitement.

"Did you see the way Aunt Sarah took that guy out? Wham!" Fred enthused, bending his knee and whipping it through the air, imitating his aunt.

"When he was curled up on the floor? I thought he was going to puke!" Curtis crowed.

"Ew, Curtis," Bridget groaned, wrinkling her nose. "I'm glad he didn't. That would have been really gross." Her sisters grimaced in agreement.

"Sarah," Morgan called over to her excitedly. "You could be a super hero. You could go around and save innocent civilians from evildoers. All you need is a costume. It could have a mask and a cape and everything."

"No capes," Bridget intoned in her best Edna Mode impression. "Do you remember Thunderhead?" Everyone burst out laughing.

"Oh, please let it be a black spandex catsuit," Chuck implored in his wife's ear. She gave him a mysterious smile.

He groaned. "Don't tease me like that."

"Who says I'm teasing?" she asked quietly, her arched eyebrow supplementing the enigmatic look on her face.

"Wait! You _have_ something like that?" he sputtered.

Her smile never wavered. "Mm-hmm."

"Why have you been holding out on me?"

"I forgot all about it until just now. I wore it for a mission. I had to pretend to 'go to the dark side.' So I did. Literally." She cut her eyes toward his direction, not wanting to miss his reaction to the next piece of information she was about to impart. "It isn't Spandex, though." She slipped an arm through his. "It's leather."

_Direct hit_. Had not their arms been linked, he would have come to a complete stop on the middle of the sidewalk. Even so, as she propelled him along, he staggered as he went. Peeking into his face, it was clear that final bit of news had broken him. Chuck had that vacant "stunned by a cattle prod" gaze their nephew had sported only a few days before. She had to admit, seeing him react that way made her feel pretty good. He deserved a reward, so she made a mental note to find the outfit when they got home to Colorado. She thought it best, though, to keep the existence of the black wig to herself, at least for now. It would be too much for him. Stunned was acceptable. Irrevocably broken was not.

Waiting for her husband to return from his mental vacation, she tuned into the ongoing conversation.

"Uncle Casey could be her sidekick," Curtis yelled.

"Sidekick!" the big man shot back. "I'm nobody's sidekick."

"Oh, come on, Uncle Casey," Lizzie called out, nearly skipping with excitement. "Aunt Sarah could be The Ninja and you could be Captain—"

"America!" he filled in for her, puffing out his chest.

"—Sugar Bear," she corrected. He scowled at her, which only caused her to smile wider.

"What would Captain Sugar Bear's costume be?" Fred asked.

"An Armani tuxedo because he's just so smooth!" Bridget answered, grinning at her uncle.

A slight smile quirked at the corners of Casey's lips. "I am smooth."

Any further discussion about The Ninja and Captain Sugar Bear came to abrupt end when they came out from behind a building to behold the landmark they had come to see. Soaring into cloudless blue sky was the Eiffel Tower.

"Wow!" Chuck breathed in awe, coming out of his stupor.

"There it is!" Bridget squealed with delight.

They still had a ways to travel to get to the tower, but as they walked along the Champs de Mars, it became more and more impressive as they grew closer.

"It's really big," Megan said from atop Chuck's shoulders.

"Yeah, it's over a thousand feet tall," Lisa said, reading from her phone.

"That sure is a lot of metal," Curtis observed.

When they reached the base of the tower, there were people everywhere. Some were taking in the sight of the Seine that ran next to the tower. Some were sitting on benches or on the grass. Some were looking at the scale model Eiffel Towers set out for sale by numerous vendors on blankets and towels. Most, however, were queued to take the elevators to visit the three levels.

They took the time to look straight up the middle of the Tower before they took their place in the queue and waited. And then waited some more.

"Hey, Grimes," Casey called as he stood between Fred and Curtis, separating the bickering duo. "Tell me again why we're wasting our time in this line instead of having tickets we could have gotten online and just walked right in."

Morgan glowered at him. "It's not my fault. Those tickets make you be here at a certain time. We didn't know for sure what time we would be here. Remember, we were in London this morning."

"Why wouldn't we have known what time we would be here? Everything we do is on that clipboard of yours and timed down to the last second. I have to check with you to see if it's my time to take a cr—"

"Thank you, Casey!" Chuck shouted from behind.

While Casey and Morgan glared at each other, Fred laughed and asked, "Am I going to have to separate you two?"

"Bet that was fun saying it to someone else for a change," Sarah said, smiling at her nephew.

He grinned at her. "It kinda was."

Lizzie and Lisa had stayed out of the conversation since they were both busy pointing out cute guys to each other. Bridget was totally oblivious to what was going on around her as she had her nose in a book displayed on her phone. Martie stood next to Chuck and was perfectly happy to people watch, making the occasional observation about something she saw to her uncle and aunt.

Megan occupied herself by facing Sarah and holding onto her aunt's hands with her own. She kept her body perfectly straight as Sarah slowly leaned her back. When their arms were fully extended, Megan was at a forty-five degree angle with the ground. Then she pulled the little girl back up. Then they did it again. And again. And again.

"Chuck, what do you think of the Eiffel Tower so far?" Sarah asked as they shuffled ahead when the line moved forward.

"It's really impressive. I'm not really feeling the romance of it yet, though. I think trying not to lose one or more kids in this crowd might have something to do with it."

"Roger that," Sarah replied. This time when Megan was pulled up, she spun around three times like a ballerina clasping her partner's hand before being lowered again.

After more waiting, they finally entered the lift and travelled to the first floor. They wandered around some, looking at the displays.

"Hey, girls," Morgan called out to Martie and Megan. "Look at these." He pointed to the yellow footprints painted on the floor. "These were left by a kid named Gus. There's a whole tour for kids. You can follow these around to different places that have pictures that tell you about how the Eiffel Tower was built and the history of it and stuff."

Megan gave him a dubious look.

"Gus is wearing a construction worker's hat," he said. Both girls now stared at him. His enthusiasm began to waver. "There's a booklet and… a… quiz…"

"Why would I want to take a quiz?" Martie asked, obviously flummoxed at the very idea.

Morgan looked to Sarah for help. She gave him none. "Maybe it's time to go to the next level," he ventured.

They rounded up the family and went to the second level, dragging Casey and the always-hungry Fred and Curtis away from a restaurant, promising them dinner after their tour of the Tower was complete.

When they stepped outside, the higher level gave them a wonderful, panoramic view of Paris. The kids took turns looking through the telescopes. Once they had sufficiently explored the second level, they waited again until it was their turn to take the surprisingly quick elevator ride to the next and highest level.

Sarah literally gasped when she stepped out onto the observation area at the top of the Tower. It was truly breathtaking to see the whole of Paris.

"Whoa, look how high we are!" Curtis shouted.

"Look!" Lisa exclaimed, pointing. "We're higher than that hot air balloon."

"Cool! And you can kinda see the earth curve, too," Lizzie noted.

Sarah acted as the family tour guide as she pointed out city landmarks like the Arc de Triomphe, Montparnasse Tower, Place de la Concorde, the Champs-Élysées and the Louvre.

"Megan, please don't stick your head through there," she called out, having taken her eyes off her youngest niece for less than a minute. Taking Megan's hand, she gently pulled her away from the crisscrossed safety bars.

"I wanted to look straight down," the little girl replied.

"Humor me." Megan shrugged and spent the rest of the time at the top level with her hand firmly held in Sarah's.

Peeking through a window, they saw mannequins of Thomas Edison and Gustave Eiffel sitting in a tiny office. This kicked off a furious debate as to whether or not Eiffel was crazy or a genius for having an office at the top of his eponymous tower. Unsurprisingly, they failed to arrive at a consensus.

During their time at the top, both Chuck and Sarah had been so busy keeping an eye on the kids and taking in the sights, they hadn't had a chance to talk to each other. Finding her husband looking down at Jardins du Trocadéro and its fountains, Sarah slipped her free hand into his.

"Hey," he said softly, his eyes not moving from the sights below.

"Hey yourself." She looked to where his gaze rested. The splendor of the Palais de Chaillot, the perfect rectangles of grass and the Seine flowing just nearly below them was a visual feast. She heaved a contented sigh.

"My thoughts exactly," he said. "I always knew there was something magical about this place, but now that I'm really here, that doesn't even begin to describe it."

There was a catch in her throat when she saw the look of sheer awe and wonder on his face. Rising up on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek.

"Aunt Sarah? Is this part of your PDA time?" Megan asked. "'Cause if it is, I'm supposed to be with Uncle Morgan and Uncle Casey."

"No, sweetie," Sarah answered with a laugh. "The kiss was unscheduled." Sarah glanced around and then winked at her niece. "Don't tell anyone. Let's keep it our little secret, okay?"

Megan eyes flashed. It was clear she was completely on board with keeping a secret from her siblings. "I won't tell anybody," she said somberly.

"Good, because Uncle Chuck and I want to save our PDA time for this evening when we watch the lights on the Tower come on."

"We do?" he queried.

She popped an eyebrow up and down. "We do."

"Alright-y, then," he said enthusiastically, looking at his watch. "How much longer until the sun goes down?"

~ O ~

Once they descended and left the Tower itself—after stopping off at the gift shops on the second level, of course—they whiled away the rest of the afternoon exploring the area. They watched tour boats cruise along the Seine. Crossing the river, they sat on the grass and watched people wade through and play in the Fountain of Warsaw. After some negotiations, the kids gained approval to take off their shoes and socks and wade in the fountain. Sarah counted it a minor miracle that none of the kids ended up completely soaked, even after the impromptu water fight that erupted. Thankfully, it was a warm and sunny day, so their damp clothes dried quickly.

As evening approached, hunger became a serious issue so they walked to a local boulangerie bought baguettes and drinks and had a picnic on the grass of the Champs de Mars. They were joined in the park by hundreds of others with the same idea. The party atmosphere grew as the time when the Tower would be illuminated came closer. The whole area thrummed with excitement.

The sun had just set behind the Tower, but the remnants of its light turned the sky into layers vibrant colors. The top layer of indigo blue changed to stunning pink. Directly behind the Tower, wispy clouds swirled through the pink like molten gold.

Chuck sat on the grass with his knees up, his forearms resting on them. The fingers of one hand were clasped around his wrist of his other. Sarah, who had just returned from taking the little ones to the bathroom, approached him from behind, slipped off her shoes and sat down cross-legged next to him. "It's breathtaking, isn't it?" she asked.

He turned and looked at her. "You sure are."

She chuckled and bumped him with her shoulder. "I warned you about flattery."

"Is it working?" he asked as he scooted closer and slipped an arm around her.

They leaned into each other and shared a gentle kiss. "That would be an affirmative," she whispered.

Megan turned away from her uncle and aunt and looked to Lizzie sitting next to her. "I think they're using their PDA time now," she informed her.

"I think you're right, squirt," Lizzie answered, tweaking her sister's nose.

It was only a few minutes later when the golden lights flared on. The Tower glowed from top to bottom in the darkening sky. The enthralled crowd cheered.

"Wow, Sarah," Chuck said, his voice thick with emotion. The light of the Tower reflected in his eyes. "It's unreal. This is all so unreal. How is this my life?"

She shook her head. "I was just wondering the same thing about me," she said softly.

Chuck gazed at her profile for a moment, looked back to the Tower and then pulled his iPhone from his back pocket. Sarah thought he was going to take a picture like everyone around them was doing, but instead, he lowered the phone to the grass and blocked her view of the screen with his thigh. After a few seconds of scrolling, he clicked off the phone and returned it to his pocket.

"What was all that about?" she asked.

"Need to know, Agent Walker," he answered quietly.

She narrowed her eyes and was about to pump him for more information when a young man picnicking with his girlfriend a few yards away distracted her. He stood, approached Lizzie and held out his phone to her. "_Voulez-vous prendre une photo de nous, s'il vous plaît?"_

"Uh, _oui_," she answered, taking the phone. The couple stood with their arms entwined around each other in front of the lit Tower and smiled for the camera. Lizzie took a couple of photos and handed the phone back to the young man. "_Merci_," he said.

Lizzie smiled and gave them a little wave and sat back down.

"Did you understand what he said to you?" Megan asked, completely in awe of her sister.

"No, but it was pretty easy to figure out what he wanted when he handed me the phone with the camera ready to go."

"Way to go, Liz!" Fred called out from where he sat behind them.

"_Merci_," Lizzie replied with a laugh and wave at her brother.

"So, it is over?" Martie asked.

"No, there's one more thing," Sarah answered.

Suddenly, more lights on the Tower began to flash and sparkle. It was as if it were covered with a million twinkle lights. The effect was magical and the crowd once again showed its appreciation with cheers, oohs and aahs.

"Hey, Lizzie," Bridget whispered loudly. "I think the guy that asked you to take the pictures just proposed to his girlfriend!"

Everyone glanced over to watch as the young man stood from bended knee. Then the young couple embraced and shared a long, passionate kiss.

"I think she said yes," Lisa observed dryly.

From behind, Casey groused, "We can't get away from it. If it's not these two," he thumbed at Chuck and Sarah, "it's somebody else."

"Twinkle lights and marriage proposals," Chuck said. "They seem to go together. Works every time, right Sarah?"

Her insides fluttered when she thought of his proposal to her that night in the gazebo. Laced with lights for the party, her life, her whole world had turned from darkness to light when he turned them on and stepped out from the shadows. In so many ways, it really had been magical. "It helps if the right guy is asking." She rested her head back on his shoulder. "And you _definitely_ were the right guy."

He kissed her temple. "Mr. Right would like to ask you to dance."

She lifted her head from his shoulder. "Right now?"

"It _is_ our scheduled PDA time."

"Yes, but there's no music," she countered.

"_Au contraire, ma chérie_" he said with a smile, taking his phone from his pocket and wiggling it at her. He stood and held out his hand. Smiling up at him, she placed her hand in his.

As Chuck helped his wife to her feet, Morgan and the kids quickly realized what was happening. "Guys," Morgan hissed, "let's get a closer look at the lights. We'll come back here in a little while." In less than a minute, Chuck and Sarah were alone in the crowd.

Sarah stood facing him, still barefoot, wondering what he was up to. In one swift motion, he removed a pair of earbuds from his pocket and dangled them in front of her. She couldn't help but chuckle at the pleased smile on his face. He plugged one end into the phone and put one of the tiny speakers into his ear. His face softened as he pushed strands of hair behind her ear and gently placed the other bud into it.

She held her breath as she waited for the music to begin. When it did, she heard the twinkling of a piano, as if the music was coming from the glimmering lights on the Tower. As soon as she heard the opening strains of violins, Chuck encircled her waist with his arm and pulled her close. She rested one hand on his shoulder while he pressed their entwined hands to his chest. Their eyes locked as she waited for the dance to begin. She could barely breathe and she tingled from head to toe. When Edith Piaf's tremulous voice filled their ears Chuck started their dance.

As they slowly swayed to the music, it was as if she was hearing the words for the first time.

Hold me close and hold me fast  
>The magic spell you cast<br>This is la vie en rose.

When you kiss me, Heaven sighs  
>And though I close my eyes<br>I see la vie en rose.

When you press me to your heart  
>I'm in a world apart<br>A world where roses bloom.

When he rested his cheek against her head, she thought about how she had been to Paris more times than she could count, but always for a mission. There had even been one operation that had resulted in her running across this very area of grass in the dark of night, dodging flying bullets. On this night, she and her husband were dancing to _La Vie En Rose_ in the glow of the Eiffel Tower. Before, she had only known a world of darkness and abandonment and loneliness. Now she knew of a different world, one of dancing and light and family and laughter and love. _It really is a world apart_, she thought.

And when you speak  
>Angels sing from above<br>Every day words  
>Seem to turn into love songs.<p>

She smiled into his shoulder when ordinary words sprang to mind. Words like socks and morning coffee and text messages and gazebo and jogging. The words themselves were unremarkable and yet their meanings were so significant.

Give your heart and soul to me  
>And life will always be<br>La vie en rose.

I thought that love was just a word  
>They sang about in songs I heard.<br>It took your kisses to reveal  
>That I was wrong, and love is real.<p>

The song was right. Their first kiss—that magical kiss on the dance floor in the backyard—had opened her eyes to the fact that love was indeed real. Remembering the swirl of emotions she had felt back then made her heart pound even now.

As the song came to a close, they ended their dance much like they had that night. They stood in each other's embrace, their bodies pressed together, oblivious to their surroundings. Their eyes locked and their faces wore the faintest of smiles. They bridged the small gap between them and their lips met in a sweet, tender kiss. And like that night, this kiss was all too brief. When they drew back and looked into each other eyes, the exhilaration and desire that had been there before was there still. But now, the confusion and conflict that had intermingled with those feelings were replaced by unguarded adoration and devotion. And unlike that night, she didn't pull away and run from him. Instead, she kissed him again, deeper and harder. This was where she belonged. This was what was real.


	19. The Battle of Paris

**A/N**: One year ago tomorrow, I posted the first chapter of _Chuck vs. the Sound of Music_. I must confess that before it posted, I was nervous. The idea was unconventional and I wasn't sure how it would be received, especially when that first chapter had Beckman, Graham and Casey bursting into song. I was greatly relieved when it actually received many positive responses—even _with_ the warning that there would be singing. So to all you brave souls who gave it a chance—whether it was a year ago or a week ago—I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And thank you for staying with it into this sequel. You all mean more to me then you can ever know.

A special thank you to **AgentInWaiting**. I know I've said this many times before, but it's true. These stories wouldn't be what they are if not for him. He's been there from the start of this crazy and wonderful journey and I appreciate his hard work and dedication to this project.

Before they start playing the music and escorting me off the stage, I want to mention that I wrote—based on a dare by **Frea**—an outtake scene for SOMI from Sarah's time at the abbey and posted it over at my blog. There are nuns… and volleyball. You're welcome.

**Chapter 19 – The Battle of Paris**

Judging by the bleary eyes and grumpy dispositions, it was too early to be up on a Saturday morning, even if it was Saturday morning in Paris. The funny thing was it wasn't that early. As wonderful as the day and evening at the Eiffel Tower had been, the late night out had taken its toll. Both Megan and Martie had fallen asleep on the Métro ride back to the hotel and were carried on shoulders the rest of the way. Everyone had immediately flopped into bed, but the length of time spent there had clearly not been long enough. Sarah couldn't fault the crabbiness of the kids since she herself felt worn-out and in terrible need of caffeine. If things didn't improve quickly, it was looking to be a very long day.

"Why is the tournament so early today?" Fred grumbled as the group walked slowly along the narrow street. The kids weren't happy about having to wear their Buy More uniforms out in public all morning, either, adding to their already cantankerous moods.

"It's Saturday. The Buy More brass thought people might want to spend their evening in Paris doing something other than watching a video game tournament," Morgan answered. "If it's earlier in the day, people who are interested in the tournament can come and then have their evening free."

"How are we gonna play if we can barely stay awake?" Bridget wondered through a gaping yawn.

"You'll feel better after breakfast," Chuck answered her.

Lizzie scrunched her nose. "I don't want to eat. I'm not even hungry. It's too early."

Sarah gave her an encouraging side hug. "You might change your mind when we get to where we're going to eat."

"Does it have pancakes?" Martie asked. "We usually have pancakes for breakfast on Saturdays."

"I don't think they'll have pancakes," Sarah replied. "But I think you'll manage to find something good to eat." As she said that, they turned a corner.

Curtis—who until that point had ambled along in silence, his face slack like a hound dog's—abruptly snapped to attention. Rotating his head this way and that, he sniffed the air. "Something smells good."

From across the street, Martie studied large black letters printed on the front of the beige canvas awning outside a food shop. "What's a pat—, patis—rary?"

"Good reading, Martie," Sarah said encouragingly. "You almost got it. It's 'pâtisserie.'" Martie and Megan proceeded to repeat the word. "It's a pastry shop. It's also a boulangerie, a bakery."

The malaise that had plagued the kids a moment before disappeared like a vapor. Previously dull eyes flashed with interest.

"Can we get anything we want?" Fred asked as they crossed the small street and entered the shop.

"Within reason," Chuck said. "You can't eat everything."

"We can try," Curtis answered. Heads nodded enthusiastically.

Once inside the shop, a heavenly aroma embraced them. In one glass display case, the lower shelf was filled with colorfully and ornately decorated cakes while the upper shelf held strawberry and blueberry tortes. Another case next to it was filled with a dizzying array of other sweets. Sarah couldn't even put names to them all, although she did recognize éclairs, tarts covered with glazed fruit, napoleons, and brightly colored macarons. Baskets full of croissants, rolls, slices of sweet bread and muffins sat atop a low counter. Long baguettes were stood lined up against the back wall next to jumbles of round loaves of bread.

"Look at all the pastries," Chuck breathed in awe. His face shone as brightly as the kids' as he surveyed the goods. Grinning at her, he exclaimed, "Europe is genius!" At his unadulterated joy, a smile grew on her face as well.

After closely examining the different array of breads and pastries available for breakfast and some serious contemplation, each kid carried their purchase to one of the small round tables set out on the sidewalk and sat down. Each table could only accommodate only two or three, so the group sat scattered amongst the other patrons. Chuck and Sarah sat at a table next to a young couple whose toddler—she appeared to be about a year old—straddled a miniature plastic tricycle. A long handle was attached to the back so the father could push it. Tiny hands gripped the pink handlebars. The little one entertained herself by slowly scooting the trike forward along the sidewalk with her feet. Once she had moved about a yard she squealed with delight when her father slowly pulled her backward to where she had started. This they repeated over and over.

Sarah pulled off a bit of a golden croissant and popped it in her mouth. She hardly had to chew. The buttery goodness nearly melted on her tongue. "Oh, Chuck!" she groaned. "You've got to taste this!" She popped a piece into his mouth.

"Wow, that's fantastic," he said. Returning the favor, he broke off a part of his _pain au chocolat_ and fed it to her. His eyes twinkled when a soft moan of pleasure burbled in her throat. "Watch it, Mrs. Bartowski. I'm getting a little jealous of the reaction this roll just got from you."

"You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Bartowski," she chuckled. Popping another piece of her croissant in her mouth, she dipped her head and shot him a suggestive look. "Although you and some _pain au chocolat _together might be fun."

It was as if she could actually see his brain completely seize up. His eyes lost focus and he could only stare unseeing at the table in front of him. And blink. Once.

She took a sip from the cup in front of her and waited. The coffee was strong but blended perfectly with the mild sweetness of the croissant. After about a minute, he blinked several times and took a deep breath as if he'd just been startled awake.

"Welcome back," she said. "You'd better eat that or it might disappear," she added, pointing at his breakfast.

"I don't know. I was thinking of saving it," he dropped his voice and murmured suggestively, "for later."

She sucked in a gasp of air and every thought was pushed from her mind except for those involving Chuck. She didn't even need the _pain au chocolat_. Her entire body thrummed.

Chuck cleared his throat, drawing her back. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs and sipped her coffee. "I regret nothing," she stated with a smirk.

He let out a hearty laugh and took a bite of his roll. She grinned back at him. Suddenly realizing that she had been "away" she glanced around at the tables where the kids were seated and counted heads. Everyone was present and accounted for. She also noticed the jealous looks Lizzie was getting from her siblings as their eldest niece sipped her coffee. Lizzie couldn't believe it when they had allowed her to get a cup when she asked. Of course, the coffee in Paris would probably ruin Lizzie for all others, but at least she was starting with the best.

Sarah turned back toward her own cup and said, "This coffee really is fantastic." When he didn't respond, she peeked up at him. His gaze rested on the father playing with his toddler daughter. She noticed a kind of wistfulness in his expression.

Nudging his leg gently under the table with her foot, she said softly, "Hey."

Dipping his head toward the young family, a small, pensive smile formed. "Megan was just about that age when… she came to live with me." He sighed. "What they say is true. They really do grow up fast."

She had only been a part of the Bartowski/Woodcomb family for less than a year, and yet she had noticed how much each of the children had changed over that period. In no time at all, Lizzie would be going away to college. Sarah was pretty sure she would never be ready for that.

Thoughts that had been lurking in the back recesses of her mind pushed their way to the forefront. She realized she was starting to form definite opinions about a particular subject and she needed to know her husband's thoughts on the matter. They had discussed it some, but that had been a while ago. It probably wasn't the best time to broach this particular subject—sitting in a sidewalk café in Paris—but it just seemed like the perfect opening had arisen. Her mouth suddenly felt like it was full of cotton and butterflies performed a series of loop-de-loops in her stomach. She spun her coffee mug on the saucer a couple of times gathering her courage before she started softly, "What about you and me?"

He turned toward her, his face questioning. "What about you and me?"

She was unexpectedly tongue-tied and could only cut her eyes over at the young couple and their toddler.

His eyes grew wide. "You mean…" He pointed to her and then to himself. He repeated the motion a couple more times.

Unsure of what his reaction meant, her nerves exploded. "I... I'm sorry. It's too soon. It's just that we sort of talked a little about it a while back and I thought we could maybe talk about it again. Sometime. Soon-ish."

"No! No, no. It's not too soon," he gushed excitedly. He sat up straighter in his chair. "Yeah! Definitely! You wanna talk about it right—?"

He was interrupted by a loud crash and then a howl. They whirled around to see—or in this case, not see—where Curtis had been sitting. They were both out of their chairs like a shot. Chuck practically hurtled over a table to get to him. Sarah followed right at his heels.

Curtis still sat properly in his chair, only now he and the chair were on the floor, flat on their backs and facing up at the awning above. "Curtis! Are you okay?" Chuck cried, bending down next to him. Sarah slid to a stop and knelt down on his other side.

"I think so," he answered, rolling off the chair to sit up. "Ow!" he hissed, putting a hand on the back of his head.

"I warned him not to tip his chair back like that," Lisa told them, shooting a disgusted look at her brother. "But no. He kept going back farther and farther until _wham_!"

"Let me see," Sarah said, moving his hand away and gently running her fingers over the back of his head. "Ooooo. That's a pretty good lump you've got there," she said. She examined the lump closely, separating his hair to get a better look. "I don't see any blood. Did you black out?"

"No."

"How's your vision? Is it blurred?" Chuck asked.

"No."

"Are you dizzy?"

"A little."

"Where are we?" Sarah questioned him.

"Huh?"

"Where are we? What city are we in?"

"Um, Paris. Why are you asking me, Aunt Sarah? Don't you know? _I'm_ the one who bumped my head," he replied with a smirk.

"He's fine," Chuck said with a relieved smile, grabbing an arm to help him stand. Sarah put the chair upright and Curtis sat down.

"I'll go get some ice," Sarah said, striding into the store. She had a quick conversation in French with a woman behind the counter where she apologized for the disturbance and asked if they had some ice for a bump on the head. The woman smiled knowingly, informed Sarah that she had a son about Curtis' age and had just the thing. She returned a moment later with a makeshift ice bag made from plastic wrap and several ice cubes. Sarah thanked her and went back out to where Curtis sat. She gently placed the ice on the lump and moved Curtis' hand up to the bag so he could hold it.

"How're you feeling? Do you feel dizzy at all?" Chuck asked.

"A little. I mostly have a headache"

"That's not a big surprise." He patted him on the shoulder. "If you start feeling weird, you let one of us know, okay?"

"How can he tell, Uncle Chuck," Fred teased from the table next to where Curtis sat. "He's _always_ weird."

"Haha!" Curtis shot back, void of amusement.

"All four legs of the chair stay on the floor from now on, buddy. Got it?" Chuck gently chided him.

"Got it."

Chuck pulled Sarah to the side to confer. "We'll have to keep watch over him the rest of the day."

"Mm-hmm," she murmured in concurrence. "It looks like he's okay, but you never know." She eyed their nephew. "Hopefully all he'll have to deal with is that knot and a headache."

Morgan joined them with a worried look. "Is Curtis going to be able to play today?"

Chuck looked at Sarah who nodded and then back to Morgan. "We think so. It looks like the back of the chair helped break his fall."

"Oh, good," he said, gusting a sigh of relief. "We need to leave in about ten minutes. Will he be ready?"

"I think so," Chuck answered.

Casey walked up to the group. "I was in a bar fight in Macao and had a chair busted over my head. They don't break apart like the ones on TV do," he informed them. "Anyway, it knocked me unconscious and when I woke up I was face down in a puddle of my own vomit."

The three of them stared at him. "Why would you tell us that, Casey?" Morgan asked incredulously.

"Because nausea and vomiting are symptoms of a concussion, you mor—"

Sarah's loud throat clearing cut her partner off.

"As disturbing as his story is—and thank you _so_ much for your vivid description, Casey—he's right," Chuck said. "It's one of the things we need to be aware of."

The four of them looked over to Curtis, who sat still holding the ice to the back of his head. Martie and Megan stood on either side of him and openly stared at their brother.

Noting the concern on their faces, Sarah said, "I think everyone will be keeping an eye on him."

~ O ~

The Paris Buy More was very similar to the one in London in that it was right at the center of the city and was not housed in a big box store like the ones found in the States. In this case, it was even smaller than the store in London since it only had one level. Every bit of square footage was used, however, to pack the store with as much merchandise as possible. It had been established in an area of the city that didn't have any electronics stores, so while a few residents complained that it ruined the character of the area, most were glad to see its arrival. As a result, the grand opening was an exciting event and the store was a very crowded place.

Once they arrived, Chuck was in charge of getting the kids settled and ready to play while Sarah went to act as interpreter for Morgan with the store manager, Buy More bosses and tournament director. She quickly realized they didn't need her services since they all spoke perfect English. Bridget was called over to meet two female Nerd Herders who wanted to shake her hand and thank her for redesigning the uniforms. As they enviously eyed Bridget and Sarah's attire, they mentioned that their only complaint was that they didn't have theirs yet. Once Sarah and Bridget were finished with the group, they returned to where the family was setting up.

"How's Curtis?" was the first thing Sarah asked as they approached, looking over at him as he sat watching the other teams milling around.

"He's okay. He was complaining of a headache, so I gave him some of the Tylenol from your purse," Chuck replied. "You know that thing's like a first aid kit."

"With seven kids? Why wouldn't it be?"

"Good point."

She glanced around. Fred was taking pictures of the store with his phone and then tapping on the screen.

"What's he doing?" she asked.

Chuck glanced over to their nephew. "He's sending pictures to that girl, Amy."

Her eyebrows rose. "Well, _that's_ interesting."

"Mm-hmm," he agreed.

She counted heads. All kids were accounted for save one.

"Where's Megan?" she asked.

He tipped his head in the little girl's direction. She was sneaking from one station to the next, carefully surveilling the other teams. "Is she trying to get intel on them? She must know that all of these teams speak French."

Chuck smiled. "Yeah, I pointed that out to her before her 'mission,' but it didn't make any difference. She's pretending to plant bugs near each team while trying not to be seen."

Sarah watched with great interest as the little girl hung back, peeked around and then placed something small and white at the back of one of the team's stations. She stooped down again and duck-walked back to her hiding place.

"What is she putting there?" Sarah wondered.

A grin erupted on Chuck's face. He pulled out a small clear plastic container from his front pocket and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. He shook it a couple of times, rattling its contents.

"Tic-Tacs?" she laughed. She took his face in her hands, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. "You are a brilliant, brilliant man."

He grinned at the compliment and returned her kiss. "My spy women keep me on my toes."

"We try," she said. She kissed him once more.

"Break it up and look alive, people," Casey growled. "I know they say 'Paris is for lovers' and all that crap, but no PDA before war."

"Really, Casey?" Chuck laughed. "No PDA before war? That would be an awesome bumper sticker."

A withering glare indicated the big man was not amused. "Get your head in the game, Bartowski. We _have_ to win today."

"Why? What's the big deal about today?" Sarah asked.

"We have to beat the French. They've never met a war they couldn't lose. I'm not going to let us be the first."

Chuck gawped at him. "Okay, you're crazy."

"Casey, that's really not—"

Casey's eyes flashed with determination. "You two gear up," he ordered. "I'll go round up the rest of the troops." With that, he marched off.

They stood motionless as they watched the kids gather around him.

"We're not going to be able to finish this trip and get out of Europe without him triggering an international incident, are we?" Chuck asked.

She sighed. "Probably not."

Her husband took her hand and led her toward the kids huddled around the major. "I've been doing some scouting. Everyone, even the people on the other teams, seems to be in awe of that guy over there." They all turned and looked at a young man closely examining a controller in his hand. His eyes were intense and humorless and his face was pinched and hard. His dark hair was combed forward from the back to compensate for his prematurely receding hairline. "My French is rusty," Sarah received an unappreciative glare when she snorted at that statement, "but I think his name is Napoleon."

"Uh oh," Fred murmured under his breath.

"What?" Casey barked.

"If he's who I think he is, he's one of the most feared players in the world. He hardly ever loses."

"Have you played against him?"

"Yeah," Fred answered glumly. "It was a while back. He smoked me."

"That was then and this is now," Casey stated. "The way they have the brackets set up, we won't play his squad until the final, if they get that far." He looked at each player on his team. "We take it one game and one team at a time. Got it?"

"Got it!" came the rousing response.

"All the other groups are so worried about this Napoleon character, they aren't paying attention to us. We use that to our advantage. We hit 'em hard and we hit 'em fast." Heads nodded excitedly.

The wholly inappropriate remark Chuck whispered into Sarah ear after Casey's last motivational comment was met with a playful hip check.

"When I was playing spy," Megan spoke up, "I noticed the blond haired guy in the purple shirt over there?" They all turned and looked at the young man in question. "He has a big Band-Aid on his thumb." She stuck her own thumb up in the air as a visual aid. "And that girl with the ponytail?" Everyone then peered at the young woman. "Her eyes are all red and she sneezes a lot. I think she has a cold." Megan rubbed her nose in sympathy and then pointed to another team. The group dutifully swiveled their heads. "And I don't think those two boys over there like each other much. They keep on making mean faces at each other like that boy in London was doing to Fred." She paused and looked up at her eldest brother. "Boys are dumb," she informed him solemnly.

"That's great intel, Megan. Good job," Casey said, causing Megan to beam. "We go after those players first. Take out the wounded in the herd."

"Charming," Sarah heard Chuck whisper. "And Megan's got quite the spy skills," he added with a chuckle. "She's adorable."

Sarah's eyebrows pulled together.

"What's the matter?" he asked when he noticed her slight frown.

After a moment's thought, she said quietly, "She's getting so sneaky. What's she going to be like when she's a teenager? She could slip out of the house at night and we'd never know."

"I wouldn't worry about it. I happen to know a fantastic spy who could put in some great countermeasures if it comes to that."

Somehow that didn't make her feel better.

Casey put his hand out in the middle of the circle. Everyone piled a hand on top of his. "Let's win this thing! USA on three!" Casey called.

"But shouldn't it be Bartowski Fam—?" Morgan started. He cut himself off at the pointed scowl he received.

Casey counted off and they all shouted, "USA!"

After the cheer, the team broke and went to their positions to get ready for the first round. "I've never seen you like this," Chuck said to the major.

"This is nothing, Bartowski," Casey said. "You should have seen me when the US hockey team beat the Soviets in the Olympics in 1980." He threw his shoulders back. With his voice brimming with pride, he said, "I jumped around, yelling and hollering like a banshee in my parent's living room for twenty minutes. And I'm da— darn proud of it."

"Uncle Casey? If we win today, will you jump around?" Martie asked, looking up at him hopefully.

"No." At her crestfallen face, he quickly added, "But I might take us out for ice cream."

"Yay!" Martie squealed. "I'll cheer really hard."

"Looks like we need to win this," Chuck said as they took their places.

Win they did. Casey had been correct. The first team the Bartowski Family Gamers played had obviously thought the family was there as a novelty—a publicity stunt—and didn't take them seriously. It was clear at the start that they thought it would be an easy, pass through round and were focused on preparing to meet Napoleon and his team in the finals. The buzz saw that was Major John Casey caused the other team to have an immediate attitude adjustment, but only after they had been wiped out in nearly record time in the first game. The second game wasn't much better and they were soon eliminated.

Before the second round, the team going up against the Bartowski Family Gamers glanced furtively over at them. They eyed Casey in particular and then launched into an animated discussion about how to take out the large, scary one first. Unfortunately, they didn't realize that one of the members of their opponents spoke fluent French, so Sarah quietly relayed their plans to Casey who prepared a counter strategy. The second round team was dispatched in less time than the first.

Meanwhile, Napoleon and his team had mowed through their competition just as easily, setting up the final just as Casey had predicted.

After a lunch of McBaguettes from a nearby McDonalds, Casey gathered the team around him for a pep talk prior to the final round.

"Uncle Casey," Fred said. "That Napoleon guy is really good. He hardly even needs the rest of his team. Can we beat him?"

Casey's blue eyes snapped. "You bet we can beat him. We _will_ beat him. He thinks he's invincible, but he's not. This is Moscow."

Curtis suddenly looked confused. "Wait! We're in Moscow? I know I bumped my head this morning, but I could have sworn we were in Paris." He glanced at his aunt with concern.

She smiled at him. "We are, sweetie. I think Uncle Casey is trying to make a historical point. Right, Uncle Casey?"

"Right. In 1812, Napoleon invaded Russia. He thought he couldn't be beat. The Russians were smart and they were able to kick him out."

Chuck's eyes widened. "You're identifying yourself with the Russians? I can't believe it."

"This is before the commie Bolsheviks, you mor—" Sarah's raised eyebrow stopped him cold. He looked back at the kids. "Anyway, if the Russians can beat that Napoleon, the Bartowskis can beat this one!"

That's exactly what happened. Just as the previous team had done, Napoleon and his team talked openly about their strategies with regards to beating the Americans. And just like before, Sarah informed her team of that intel. In addition, Casey made it his personal mission to contain and harass Napoleon. It rattled the Frenchman and soon he was yelling directly at Casey, who ignored him as he chewed on his unlit cigar. With their leader unable to direct them, the rest of his team fell apart and was defeated. The Bartowski Family Gamers had won the tournament.

When the Bartowskis were proclaimed the champions, there was polite applause from most of the French teams and audience. It was clear from the looks on the faces of the French players that they simply didn't understand how the Americans had defeated them so soundly. When the store manager handed the microphone to Sarah, she warmly thanked—in impeccable French—the Buy More management for inviting them to Paris to participate in the tournament and for being such lovely hosts. She then acknowledged the contestants and thanked the spectators for coming. Finally, she told them how much she and her family were enjoying their beautiful city and looking forward to more sightseeing. The management and spectators were charmed by the beautiful blonde and gave her a warm round of applause. This was in contrast to the complete and utter shock on the faces of their French competitors.

The Buy More brass, pleased at the size of the crowds and number of customers the event had drawn, dubbed the tournament a huge success. There were already phone calls being made to the Amsterdam Buy More, imploring them to ensure there was plenty of advertising for that city's tournament being held in a few days.

The kids gathered their things and assembled near the front door with Casey and Morgan. Their conversation centered on what the next activity of the day should be. Sarah was checking around their abandoned station, making sure everything had been picked up when Chuck snuck up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. "I don't care what we do next. As long as it involves you speaking French, I'll be happy," he murmured in her ear.

"Really?" Every time he held her like this and whispered in her ear, her legs went wobbly. This time was no exception.

"Mm-hmm. You could read a JavaScript manual in French and make it sound sexy."

She chuckled softly. "I'll remember that the next time I have to read a JavaScript manual." She peeked at her watch. "It's the middle of the afternoon. What do you want to do?"

A low growl rumbled from his chest and his arms squeezed her tighter to him. She knew exactly what he wanted to do in the middle of the afternoon.

"Chuuuuuck," she groaned quietly.

He burrowed his face in her hair and whispered, "They've _got_ to have a supply closet around here somewhere."

She licked her lips and turned the idea over in her mind. "Chuck, we can't. What about the kids?"

"Morgan and Casey are here. They can watch them." His body, pressed against her back, radiated heat like a furnace. It was suddenly very hot inside the Paris Buy More.

"What if someone walks in on us?" She was generating plenty of her own heat now that her insides had turned into bubbling lava.

He swept her hair to one side and kissed her neck, his lips searing her skin. "We lock the door."

She closed her eyes and lolled her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck. He tugged at the collar of her white dress shirt with a finger, and trailed his slightly parted lips across the top of her shoulder to just behind her ear. His warm breath caressed her exposed skin. She drew in a trembling breath. "What if there's no lock?"

She could feel his lips smile against her skin. The chuckle that burbled up from deep within made his whole body vibrate. Sparks shot through her and her heart hammered faster in her chest. "Then some unsuspecting Buy More employee has a very memorable first day of work."

When he gently nipped her earlobe, she jolted and a gasped escaped. _Forget the supply closet_. She was ready to tackle him to the floor and ravage him right there, next to the display of waffle irons.

They were so lost in the moment they didn't even hear Megan's approach. They both jumped when she said, "Uncle Morgan says it's time to go."

Sarah opened her eyes and stared unfocused at her niece. She blinked a couple of times, trying to awaken her sluggish brain. "What, sweetie?"

Megan scratched her nose. "Uncle Morgan says it's time to go. He sent me over here to tell you."

"I'm gonna strangle him," Chuck grumbled under his breath.

Their niece nodded knowingly. "He knew that's what you would say. That's why he sent me. He said something about how you 'wouldn't take it out on the messenger' if I was the one to come over here."

"I'll get him in his sleep," Chuck whispered savagely.

"I'll help you," his wife muttered back.

Swinging her arms, Megan continued imparting her message. "Aunt Sarah, Uncle Morgan said you promised Bridget we would all go shopping."

With every ounce of willpower she had, Sarah bit back a monster groan. Shopping was not what she wanted to do. Sadly, what she did want to do wasn't going to happen, so instead she said, "Yes, I did. Run over and tell Uncle Morgan we'll be right there."

"Roger that," Megan said with a salute and scampered off.

Once Megan was out of earshot, Sarah allowed herself to let out a groan of disappointment. Chuck heaved a defeated sigh and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. "I guess we're going shopping."

~ O ~

"Are you sure you don't want some company?" Chuck asked Casey through the open door when the major stopped by the Bartowskis' room to inform them where he was going. He figured Chuck would ask that question, so he had a reply ready to go. It was basically, "Hell, no." Before he could say it, though, Sarah spoke up.

"Honey, I think Casey might enjoy some alone time tonight," Sarah said, sliding off the bed and walking up behind Chuck. As she approached, she gave Casey an understanding look. She had apparently noticed him growing more and more agitated as the day wore on. "I'm sure being around so many people all the time can be tiring. Along with all the shopping."

Casey stood in the hallway and shifted from one foot to the other, antsy to get away. "I know Bridget loves that stuff," he said, "but if I have to look at another pair of strappy-backed sandals that cost a thousand dollars and made by some guy whose name sounds like you just sneezed, I'm gonna take one of those shoe's spikey heels and jam it through my eye."

Chuck's eyebrows rose. "Alright-y then."

Addressing her husband, Sarah said, "Remember, too, that Casey has to bunk with Vegas and Barstow instead of having his own room like he did in London."

Casey scowled. "Yeah. Although bunking with Barstow is kinda like being by myself. The guy has the personality of a houseplant. Compared to him, I'm like a drunk frat boy on Spring Break." He didn't know what Scott Barstow did for fun, but he figured watching paint dry and rearranging his sock drawer would be at the top of the list.

"Wow," Chuck said, his eyebrows rising further. "That's hard to imagine."

"Go," Sarah said to her partner. "We're in for the night, anyway. Chuck's working on the software patches for Graham and I'm writing up some notes."

"Roger that. I'll be downstairs if you need me. Vegas is in Amsterdam doing some advance recon, and Barstow's down the hall watching his fingernails grow."

"We'll be fine," she replied. "Good night, Casey."

When she swung the door closed and it quietly latched, the tension in his shoulders eased. He turned, strode down the hall and took the elevator to the lobby. He entered Le Bar as it was called and saw the place was way swankier than he preferred, with its glossy wood paneling, granite table tops and crushed red velvet chairs. It was convenient, though, and as long as they served decent booze, he didn't really care. He'd even put up with the young chanteuse warbling her way through some song he didn't recognize. He didn't mind. Not knowing the song made it that much easier to ignore.

Despite the fact that the place was busy—it was Saturday night after all—he found an empty stool at the bar next to a weirdly tall, clear vase with bunch of purple flower balls stuck in the top. He eyed the pointless decoration and shook his head.

The bartender in a crisp black jacket approached and raised his eyebrows in question. "_Monsieur?_"

"Johnnie Walker. Black."

"_Oui, monsieur_." The bartender found the distinctive square bottle on the shelf hung on the mirrored wall behind the bar, poured some of the amber liquid into a glass and set it on a napkin in front of Casey. "Your Scotch, _monsieur_," he said in English.

"Thanks," he replied and watched the man move to his left to serve another patron. He swirled the liquid around a couple of times, watching it slowly move down the inside of the glass when he held it still. Lifting the glass to his lips, he took a sip. The smooth, slightly sweet, slightly smoky flavor rolled across his tongue and warmed his throat on the way down.

One of the drawbacks of these fancy hotel bars, he realized, was that there was no TV, which meant no sports to watch. It was probably just as well, since it most likely would have been soccer—he refused to call it "football"—which to him was nothing but a giant waste of time and energy.

He took another sip of the whisky and thought back over the day. It felt good to have kicked some French butt at the tournament. The corner of his lip quirked up at the memory of the look of absolute shock on that smug bastard Napoleon's face when his team lost. It was only slightly better than the look when the frog figured out that Walker had understood everything he'd said. It had been gratifying to take him down a notch or two. He raised his glass to his lips as a silent toast to victory.

Being alone and away from the Bartowskis—even for this short amount of time—had helped his exasperation with them somewhat decrease. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on with those two. They couldn't keep their hands off each other, always pawing and grabbing and kissing and giggling and flirting. It was disgusting. He couldn't comprehend how the kids weren't completely scarred by their constant exposure to their uncle and aunt's overt demonstrations of love and affection. His parents never acted like that and look how well adjusted he was.

Something definitely needed to be done about those two and soon, or else he'd end up putting his fist through a wall. He decided then and there that if the next hotel didn't have them in a room by themselves so they could… get their chocolate and peanut butter together… he would pay for one out of his own pocket. Of course, there would be conditions. It would have to be on a separate floor. With at least one floor in between them and the kids. And soundproof walls. He smirked and took a drink. A completely different hotel would probably do the trick and keep everyone from ending up with nightmares.

Speaking of nightmares, if he ever went shopping again, it would be too soon. He was just glad that those little shops Walker had dragged them to at first were too small to have everyone fit inside. He was more than willing to stand outside on the sidewalk with Fred, Curtis, Lisa and Martie. And the bearded one, too. Bartowski usually made himself the sacrificial lamb and went inside with Walker, Bridget, Lizzie and Megan. Casey snorted quietly to himself when he thought of how Chuck was the designated purse holder. He couldn't quite understand how the big nerd could be so happy about it. Or how the bearded buffoon seemed to be jealous, grumbling something about how if he was married to a woman like Sarah, he'd gladly hold her purse. Casey concluded he was the only sane one in the bunch.

He drained the glass of the remaining whisky and set it back down on the napkin. The waiter reappeared and asked, "Another of the same for you, _monsieur_?"

"Yeah. Please." The waiter poured him another glass.

Even though his back was to the door, he kept an eye on it in the mirrors behind the bar, so he noticed her the minute she entered the room. He lifted his glass, hoping his hand would hide his face. Maybe she wouldn't see him. Maybe she was there for someone else, he hoped as he watched her in the mirror. She scanned the room, obviously searching it for someone. All the tension he had shed over the previous thirty minutes returned and now was doubled. He saw her face change when she spotted him. _Crap_. Making a beeline for him, she approached and stood directly behind him.

"Hello, John," she said softly. "It's been a long time."


	20. The Tale of Sugar Bear

**A/N the first: **Thank you so much for the all the reviews, PMs, and tweets. I always enjoy hearing from you. Keep it up!

I must thank, as always, **AgentInWaiting** for his wonderful beta work. I also send my thanks to **JustMyLuckiness**. Independent of each other, both mentioned to me a general plot idea for Paris that I thought was a great idea. Thanks, guys.

**Chapter 20 – The Tale of Sugar Bear**

John Casey raised the glass of Scotch to his lips. He didn't sip the drink this time. Instead, he tipped his head back and slugged the whisky down in one gulp. The alcohol burned on its way down, only fanning the anger that had flared in his chest. He set the empty glass down hard, his big paw of a hand still wrapped around the outside. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he silently stared at the bottom of the glass.

The faint scent of her perfume wafted around him. He noticed that she still wore the same warm, citrusy fragrance she'd always preferred. Gripping the glass tighter, he silently chided himself first for noticing and second, for remembering.

He still hadn't acknowledged her. Maybe if he didn't, she would give up and go away. She stood behind him, unmoving. Unfortunately, the person sitting on the stool next to him left, leaving it open.

"Are you going to make me stand here all night, John, or can I sit down?" she asked in that annoyingly rich and lilting voice of hers.

Without turning toward her, he growled, "It's a free country." After a beat, he grumbled, "Well, it _is_ France, so I guess it's 'free-ish'. Thanks to American blood and guts."

She let loose with a throaty chuckle and slid onto the stool. "Always the unapologetic patriot."

He didn't answer nor did he look at her. He kept his eyes fixed on the clear bottom of the glass, as if he was fascinated by the hotel logo stamped on the napkin showing through and couldn't look away.

The bartender approached her. "_Madame_?"

"Martini,_ s'il vous plait._" From the corner of his eye, he could see her glance at him. "And another Johnnie Walker, Black Label, for my friend."

The bartender made a slight bow and answered, "_Oui, madame_."

"I'm not your friend," he groused.

"That's too bad. Because I could really use one," she said quietly.

He whirled on her and looked her full in the face. With her dark hair and blue eyes, she was just as stunningly beautiful as he remembered. It made him want to throw his glass against the wall and watch it shatter into a million shards. "Ilsa, I don't give a rat's ass about what you want."

She didn't even flinch at his seething response. If anything, she seemed to have expected it.

He turned his face away and watched as the bartender refilled his glass. He could feel his insides churn and roil into a giant, twisting knot. He knew what he was about to say next wouldn't matter. She wouldn't give up that easily. His jaw clenched again. He didn't care. It needed to be said. Waiting until the bartender set Ilsa's drink on the counter and moved away, he finally growled, "Leave me the hell alone."

"I'm sorry, John, but I need your help."

His mouth twisted into a feral smile. "You must be up to your eyeballs in some really deep crap if you're looking to get help from me. 'Cause, lady, you've got to know all I have to say to you is, 'Hell, no" and 'Get lost.'"

"I can't do that. You have to help me." She laid a hand gently on his arm.

He tensed and jerked it away. "No, I don't."

"You do. Call your boss." She held out her phone, inviting him to use it.

He sat up, ramrod straight and glowered at her. His face grew dark and thunderous. Through gritted teeth he hissed, "You called Beckman?"

She stared at him evenly. "How else was I going to find you?"

He cursed under his breath. If Beckman gave up his location, this had to be important. "How did you find me in here?"

"She gave me a list of room numbers you might be in." She frowned. "The first one must have been wrong. The guy—tall, good-looking, serious—told me he didn't recognize your name."

_Good man, Barstow_.

"The next one was answered by a little guy with a beard. He said you were down here at the bar." She chuckled softly. "He offered to accompany me."

_I'll kill that bearded troll._

He looked at the phone in Ilsa's hand and ignored it. He tugged his phone from his back pocket and snarked, "but you've lied to me before, Ilsa. I'm gonna call your bluff." He touched the screen and held the phone to his ear.

"Major Casey," General Beckman greeted him. "I've been expecting your call."

His eyes snapped to Ilsa's placid face. "So it's true, General. Ms. Trinchina contacted you?"

"Yes, she did. And I told her where to find you. I can only assume from this call that she was successful."

"Yes, ma'am. Does this mean I'm to help her with whatever it is she needs?"

"Affirmative, Major. This is a matter of US—no, international—security. This is your top priority."

A string of expletives died on his lips. The grip on his phone was like a vise. "General, I have a serious issue with Ms. Trinchina. I'm not sure I can—"

"I'm well aware of your history with Ms. Trinchina, Major Casey," the general interrupted. "I remember your successful mission in Casablanca, as well as the other… complications. Three words, Major. Suck. It. Up."

Chastised, he answered, "Yes, General. What about my current mission?"

"My understanding is that the issue at hand will be settled one way or the other before you, the Bartowskis and their children leave Paris."

"Understood."

"Good. I've spoken with Director Graham and he's given permission for Agents Walker, Barstow and Vegas to assist you in any way deemed necessary. Ms. Trinchina will brief you on the particulars. I'll expect to hear back from you when you have the mission specs in place. Carry on." The call ended.

He had his orders. As much as he loathed the idea of having anything to do with Ilsa Trinchina, he would follow those orders. But it didn't mean he had to be pleasant about it.

"This is such a cluster," he grumbled under his breath. He turned slightly toward the target of his animosity, but didn't look into her face. "Spill it, Ilsa. What's so important that you've got my boss crawling up so far up my ass she can remove my appendix from the inside?"

For the first time, her composure slipped. She took a gulp of her drink as if it was a magic elixir that would fill her with the confidence she needed. After blowing out a deep breath, she said, "I need you to help my husband."

The words hung between them like a pall. The absurdity of her statement almost made him laugh. Almost.

"I'm sure you two are very happy together," he said, the words dripping with sarcasm. "How long have you been married? Two, three years?"

Her hesitation told him she didn't want to reveal the answer. "Seven," she finally answered quietly.

"Seven!" he boomed. The bar suddenly went quiet as the other patrons stared at the couple sitting at the bar. He waited until the noise level returned to normal before he spoke again. He was so filled with red-hot fury, his vision wobbled at the edges. "Thanks, Ilsa, for turning me into an adulterer," he seethed. The burning in his chest convinced him that if he really wanted to, he could spit fire. If he didn't get up and move, he was going to explode. He leapt up from his stool, grabbed a wad of Euros from his pocket and flung some notes on the bar. Without a word he stalked out of the room, through the lobby and out the front door of the hotel. Not caring where he went—all he needed was movement—he turned left and stormed down the sidewalk.

Ilsa had to practically jog to keep up with his long, angry strides. "John, it's not like that. I didn't know."

He stopped dead in his tracks and spun on her. "What do you mean you didn't know? How could you not know you were married?" He took off down the sidewalk again. "I can tell you about two people who know they're married. Hell, just by _looking_ at them the whole damn _world_ knows they're married."

"I didn't know I was _still_ married," she said, hurrying along beside him. "When I met you in Morocco, I thought he was dead."

He snorted, glared at her and kept walking. At the first street they came to, he turned left, never breaking his stride.

She grabbed his arm with both hands and with her whole weight, jerked hard, spinning him toward her. He'd forgotten how strong she could be. "My husband is Victor Lazaro."

His eyes flashed with recognition. "The Costa Gravan rebel?"

"Yes. He's been trying to overthrow the dictator, Alejandro Goya, for years."

He crossed his arms and stared down at her, but otherwise remained still.

"We'd been married about two and a half years when he was captured and jailed by Goya's thugs. Six months before I met you in Casablanca, I was told that he had been shot and killed while trying to escape." She worked to steady her breathing. "He was dead. I saw the proof."

The glare continued.

Ilsa pushed a hand through her hair. "Victor was dead, or at least I thought he was. I didn't know what else to do, so I returned to work for the DGSE. They sent me on a mission to Casablanca and that's where I met and fell in love with you." After a beat, she added, "Sugar Bear."

Even in the dark of the Parisian night he watched her blanch at the unrestrained disdain on his face. "There are only _five people_ in this world that can call me that," he spat. "You're not one of them." He felt an odd sense of satisfaction when her face twisted in confusion.

He started walking again, although his pace had slowed. Neither spoke as they trudged along, heads bowed. Only the dual tones of a police siren blaring in the distance overcame the silence. They made another left at a corner in their course around the block.

"I waited for you for hours in that damn airport," he said, breaking the quiet between them. "Like an idiot I stayed long after the plane we were supposed to be on took off." He huffed a mirthless guffaw. "Hell, that plane probably landed in Paris before I even left the airport."

"I'm sorry," was her only response.

"Yeah, well, sorry doesn't cut it, sister," he shot back. "It's not like the only way of contacting me was with smoke signals. You could have called. This is the twenty-first century. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting someone with a cell phone."

"It was wrong of me not to tell you. I'm sorry. I was on my way to the airport to meet you when I got the news that Victor was still alive and had just been safely smuggled out of Costa Gravas."

He grunted in response.

"Although he'd been shot during the escape, he did get away. His people took him into hiding while he healed. Knowing Goya and his men were watching me, Victor's people couldn't tell me where he was or even that he was alive. To save face and to try to break the back of the resistance, the Costa Gravans announced Victor had been killed and plastered the news with gruesome pictures of him." She shuddered. "Only Victor's closest aides and the doctor that saved him knew the truth. It was only safe to contact me once he was out of the country."

He was still furious with her, but he knew she was telling the truth. It didn't help.

She pressed on. "I had no choice. He was my husband. As hard as it was to leave you, I had to go to him. Call me a coward, but I knew if I went to you at the airport that day and talked to you face to face, I would have left on that airplane with you."

The sour taste in his mouth only intensified. They reached the end of the block and made one last left turn. "So you went back to your husband and left me at the airport with my thumb up my ass. That's just great." After a few more steps, he growled, "You could have called and told me about this later. You've only had about three years."

"Victor was hiding in a Brazilian cave system cut off from any outside communication. We were there for six months." She sighed. "After that… what good would it have done? I knew you'd be angry with me either way. Any contact with me would just open old wounds."

"And yet here you are doing just that. Thanks a million." He wanted to put his fist through a wall. "Why contact me now?"

"We've received actionable intelligence from someone sympathetic to Victor's cause who works inside the Costa Gravan embassy here in Paris."

"So, have Victor the Wonder Boy figure out what to do. You don't need me."

"We do."

Having completed their circuit around the block, they stopped outside the front doors of the hotel. "You're a spy. I'm sure you've got plenty of spy friends. Call someone who cares."

She shook her head. "When I heard the intelligence, I knew I had to contact you." She looked up into his face, the seriousness of the situation written all over hers. "I'm sure you remember why we were both in Casablanca."

He did remember and the meaning of it hit him like a ton of bricks. "Crap."

"You and I… we have experience with this."

"And that's why Beckman was so quick to sign off on it."

"Yes," she answered quietly. "I spoke with the general about a week ago, when this information first came to us. She said you were unavailable. When she learned of the nature of the problem, she relented and told me you were going to be in Europe. I was ready to go anywhere in the world to talk to you. When I learned you were coming to Paris…" she trailed off.

He huffed out a breath in resignation. Like it or not, he had to help her, not only because he was under direct orders, but because it was the right thing to do. "Let's go back to the bar and you can fill me in on the details.

When they entered the lobby, Sarah rose from a leather wing-backed chair. Casey saw on her face a mixture of curiosity and concern. Her eyes flicked from him to Ilsa and back to him. "Are you okay? A friend of ours told me there was a woman looking for you."

"Yeah, I'm fine. We went for a little walk."

Sarah nodded and looked to Ilsa, who openly eyed her back.

"Ilsa Trinchina, French secret service," Casey said, pointing at Sarah, "this is my partner, Sarah Walker, CIA."

As the women shook hands coolly, Casey watched the mask of Agent Sarah Walker slip over the open, relaxed face of Sarah Bartowski.

Sarah crossed her arms. "Care to explain, Casey?"

"Ilsa just showed up tonight and said she needs my help. Anyway, I'm glad you're here, Walker. You're probably going to be in on the mission, so both of us might as well hear it all at the same time. Beckman and Graham have signed off, giving it top priority." He ignored Sarah's raised eyebrow and strode off toward the bar, sitting down at a corner table, away from the rest of the patrons. Sarah and Ilsa sat down across from each other.

"Okay, Ilsa, this is your nickel. Shoot," Casey said. When she remained silent, obviously unsure about Sarah's presence, he growled, "Look, Ilsa, Walker's one of the best agents I've ever worked with. If this is even half of what we dealt with in Casablanca, we're gonna need her. Tell us what the hell's going on so we can save the world and then get the hell away from you."

Ilsa flinched. Sarah's only movement came from her eyes, appraising the situation.

After another look at Sarah, the other woman started, "Four years ago, John and I were sent by our agencies to Casablanca to intercept a prototype bioweapon that had been developed. Our teams were there independent of each other. As it happened, we eventually realized we were both trying to accomplish the same thing, so we joined up and worked together to acquire the weapon."

Casey felt Sarah's gaze fall on him while Ilsa relayed the story. He kept his eyes forward and looked at neither of the women.

"We were successful in securing the weapon and tracking down the group of scientists who developed it. They're all in maximum security now. About a week ago, my husband received intel that Alejandro Goya is in France looking to purchase a recently developed bioweapon. The same weapon we had seized before."

"Goya, the Costa Gravan dictator?" Sarah asked.

"One and the same," Casey replied.

"And your husband is?"

"Victor Lazaro."

Sarah's brow furrowed. "I thought he was dead."

Casey leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "He got better."

Sarah's face twitched, obviously trying to stop the smirk that wanted to form. Instead, she asked, "What's this bioweapon Goya wants to get his hands on?"

"It's a strain of botulinum toxin that has been genetically altered so that when an antidote is administered, instead of neutralizing it, it becomes lethal."

"Crap," Sarah whispered. "Botulism."

"It gets worse. It would be dispersed in airborne form–colorless and odorless," Ilsa added.

"Beckman wasn't kidding when she said this is a top level threat," Casey said. "We captured the scientists who worked on the original weapon but it seems another group of numbnuts has managed to duplicate the research." He looked to Ilsa who nodded with confirmation.

Sarah frowned. "Wait. Did you say Goya is here? Isn't it risky for him to be in on the buy?"

"He's both paranoid and a megalomaniac," Ilsa answered. "He won't trust anyone with a weapon like this, not even his closest lieutenants."

"If he's here, who's running the circus in Costa Gravas?" Casey asked.

"His wife. She's the only person he completely trusts. She's every bit the ideologue he is and almost as ruthless."

"So we nab Goya in the middle of purchasing the bioweapon and turn him over to the appropriate authorities and let them handle it from there," he said.

"Yes," Ilsa replied. "As soon as Goya is in custody and his attempted purchase exposed, there should be an international outcry. Victor and his men think this will help them gain international support for when they move to topple Goya's regime and establish a democracy. They are camped just outside the capital and ready to move in as soon as possible."

"Well, that's all on you and your husband. We're here to snag the toxin and then get the hell away from you," Casey growled at Ilsa. From the corner of his eye, he saw Walker's eyebrow quirk at his last statement. He didn't care. It was the truth.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Sarah spoke up. "Let's get the mission specs nailed down. Where's the exchange going to take place?"

"There's a reception Goya is hosting tomorrow evening at the Costa Gravan embassy here in Paris. It will happen then."

Sarah's brows knit together. "The embassy is Costa Gravan soil. We can't just waltz in there and do whatever we want."

"How is that any different than when I tried to kill the bastard in his own compound _in_ Costa Gravas years ago?" Casey scoffed.

Both women's eyebrows shot up.

"What?" Shifting in his chair he added, "Besides, Beckman and Graham have signed off on this, like Ilsa's bosses have." He glanced at her and she nodded. "It's not our butts on the line. We do what we have to do and let the stuffed-shirt diplomats hash it out."

Sarah was silent for a moment and then said, "Okay."

"I've already taken the liberty of ensuring that John and I will be inside the building during the party."

Casey flopped back in his seat and groaned. "I'm gonna have to wear a tuxedo, aren't I? You know I hate those things."

Ilsa's lips twitched as she focused her eyes on her clasped hands resting on the table. "Yes, I know…"

~ O ~

Sarah was pulled from sleep by the wonderful, unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee. With her eyes still closed, she took in a deep breath and smiled. She didn't need to open them to know that Chuck was sitting on the floor next to the bed, his face inches from hers. "Good morning," she rasped, her voice still affected by her too short night of sleep.

"Good morning. I come bearing coffee."

Her smile widened although her eyes remained closed. "Thank you. You take excellent care of me."

"I know you came to bed late last night, so I thought you might need a little pick-me-up this morning."

Opening her eyes a sliver, she reached out and gently placed a hand on his cheek. She drew her thumb across the stubble on his chin. "I would love a different kind of pick-me-up this morning," she murmured. She pulled his head toward her and kissed him. It didn't surprise her at how quickly it intensified. The fact that he tasted like coffee only made her ache for him more. They indulged themselves and took full advantage of their stolen moment. She slid the hand from his face and tangled her fingers in his curls. No matter what she did to deepen the kiss, it still wasn't enough. Bunching a fistful of his t-shirt, she rolled onto her back, dragging him along so that the top half of him pressed her deep into the mattress while the rest of him draped off the side of the bed. His weight and the growl he made at her little move sent pulses of electricity sparking through her. She snaked a hand up under his t-shirt and raked her fingernails across his back, eliciting an immediate and fiery response from him. He shifted his body slightly and slid an arm between her and the mattress. His hand felt like it scorched a hole in her nightgown as it crushed her body to his. When Sarah wanted nothing more than to hoist the rest of him up onto the bed and continue what they'd started, she knew she needed to put the brakes on. Her frenzied movements slowed, as did Chuck's, who had apparently come to the same conclusion.

Their kiss broke, albeit reluctantly, and Chuck lifted his head, still keeping it inches from hers. Panting, he gave her a rueful look. "Sarah, I…" His eyes searched her face.

She nodded and swallowed hard, her heart thumping away in her chest. "I know."

He kissed her forehead drew back as they both took a moment to collect themselves and get their breathing under control. Finally he said, "The kids are in the next room waiting for us."

Her eyebrows knit together. "Did I miss something?"

"No, not necessarily. It's Father's Day."

Her eyes grew wide and she smacked her hand to her forehead. "Oh, Chuck! I'm sorry. I didn't even realize. The kids didn't say anything about it to me. You and the kids planned such a wonderful Mother's Day for me and I haven't done anything for you."

"It's okay, honey, really," he said and gave her a quick kiss. He levered himself up and dropped back to his place on the floor next to the bed. "The kids have been doing something for me for Father's Day for years. They've got it covered." After she scooted up against the pillows, he handed her the coffee mug from the nightstand.

"I still feel like I should have done something."

"Maybe in a couple of years you can," he said vaguely. "In the meantime, drink some coffee so you can wake up and meet us next door in a few minutes."

"I'm already fully and completely awake," she answered, smirking and bouncing her eyebrows.

"And with that, I should go before I completely lose control and scar the children for life." He stood and added, "When we get the chance, I'd like to find out what happened with Casey last night."

She nodded and her shoulders sagged at the thought of the terrible toxin that could end up in the hands of a tyrannical dictator.

"That bad?" he asked, noticing her change in body language.

She sighed and looked into his face. "Really bad."

~ O ~

The whole family—most still in their pajamas—crammed into the girls' room, sitting on the beds or on the floor, or any flat surface they could find. After a load of pastries was consumed, the kids presented Chuck with their annual Father's Day gift—a stereotypical necktie. It had a large lighted Eiffel Tower with the École Militaire under it, as if in the background. The whole scene was set against a sky blue background. It was spectacularly hideous, as Sarah quickly realized was the point. They all fell out laughing when he put it on over his t-shirt and modeled it for them.

"Okay, what's the deal with the tie?" Sarah asked when the laughter finally died down.

"For our first Father's Day with Uncle Chuck," Lizzie began, "Mrs. Smith took me to a department store to get him a present. Mom was the one who always came up with wonderful things for us to give to Dad for Father's Day, so I didn't have the first clue what to buy him for a present. So here I am, twelve years old and wandering around Dillard's with our cook, and I have no idea what to get our uncle for Father's Day."

The story was told with humor, but Sarah had to swallow down the lump that had suddenly lodged in her throat when she remembered the heartbreaking circumstances they had been in.

"I asked Mrs. Smith what I should get him. She said a necktie was always a safe bet. Off we went to look at neckties. It never occurred to me at the time that I'd only seen Uncle Chuck wear a necktie, like, three times." Lizzie snickered. "I managed to find the ugliest tie in the whole store. At the time, I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I can still remember Mrs. Smith trying to get me to look at ones that were a little more 'understated' I think was the word she used. Anyway, I wasn't going to leave the store without that awesome tie and I didn't. Bought it for ten dollars." She laughed out loud. "Now that I think about it, I think I paid too much."

"What did it look like?" Sarah asked, grinning along with everyone else.

Bridget wrinkled her nose. "I've seen it. He still has it," she shot a judgmental look at her uncle who simply smiled back. "It's horrible. It's a bunch of different colored diamonds: purple, lime green, bright yellow, screaming pink." She shuddered at the horror.

Smiling, Lizzie continued her story. "I was so proud of myself. I wrapped the box it came in myself. We all clustered around him to watch while he opened it." Lizzie gave Megan an affectionate look. "Megan helped rip the paper off. She wasn't even two." The little girl grinned at the attention from her big sister. "When he opened the box—he looked so happy—I knew I'd made the perfect choice. He grinned and gave us each a hug. He put it on and wore it the whole day. Even when we went out to lunch." The look exchanged between Lizzie and Chuck was so full of open love and affection, the back of Sarah's eyes began to burn.

Fred cracked up. "I remember that. Everyone at the restaurant kept looking at him and smiling. We all thought it was because of the really awesome tie we'd given him."

"It was!" Chuck exclaimed. "I rocked that tie," he added with a straight face. The whole room exploded with laughter.

"The next year, we picked out another ugly tie, again not on purpose. By the third year, I finally realized what hideous things we'd been buying. Lisa thought it would be fun to keep doing it and not tell him we'd figured out we had horrible taste in ties."

"I finally realized what they were doing the year they gave me one with hula dancers on it," Chuck said. "You have to work really hard to find a tie like that."

Curtis grinned. "That one was my idea."

"I liked it. I thought the ladies on it were pretty," Martie said.

Sarah's eyes flashed with amusement. "You wore the hula dancer tie?"

"I did," he answered proudly. "As well as the tie with the skulls all over it from last year."

"I was going through a phase," Lizzie said sheepishly.

"Aunt Sarah, when we go out today, you'll get to see all the great looks people give Uncle Chuck when he's wearing his new tie," Fred said.

"You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to that," she replied, shooting a wink in her husband's direction.

"Speaking of going out," Chuck said, "let's all go get changed so we can see more of Paris. Morgan expects us to be ready to go in," he glanced at the clock on the nightstand, "forty-five minutes."

The kids scattered and Chuck, Sarah and Megan returned to their adjoining room to prepare for the day. After a quick shower and helping Megan dig through her suitcase to find some clothes for her, Chuck sat on the bathroom counter and watched while Sarah put on her makeup.

"You don't need any of that, you know," he said.

She took the brush she had been dusting across her face and bopped him on the nose with it. "_You_ are good for my ego."

"I haven't said anything that isn't true."

She smiled at the compliment. "And you look amazing in your new tie."

He lifted it from his chest and admired it with a pleased grin. "It is pretty spectacular, isn't it?"

"You're incredibly sweet to wear those ugly things all those years for the kids like that."

"I was so overwhelmed that they did anything for me that first Father's Day, I would have worn the tie like a headband if they'd asked me to." He dropped the tie and returned to the subject he had brought up earlier. "Can you tell me anything about what happened last night with Casey?"

She stared at her reflection for a moment and then began to apply eyeliner. "The woman who showed up looking for him last night is Ilsa Trinchina. She's the wife of a Costa Gravan rebel. The dictator he's trying to oust, Alejandro Goya, is in Paris to purchase a nasty bioweapon. She needs Casey's help in securing this weapon and taking Goya into custody. Apparently they worked together in a similar mission in Casablanca about three years ago. He had a… pretty strong reaction to her."

Chuck's eyebrows shot up. "They worked together before, huh? Do you think they—?" he raised his fists in front of his chest and bounced, rotating ever so slightly back and forth. He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Laughing, she playfully slapped his arm. "You're going to make me stick this in my eye." She snagged a tissue and wiped the smudge at the corner of her eye. "To answer your question, I got the impression that they did, but it ended badly. He's still really angry at her."

"Casey? Angry? How is that different than any other time?"

"No, I've never seen him like this. He wasn't happy to see her. At all."

"You didn't ask Casey about her later?" Before she could answer, he said, "And _that_ has to be one of the dumbest questions I've ever asked."

"Anyway, it went late last night because we had to get the op specs set for tonight."

He sat up straighter. "Tonight? Are you going to be part of this?"

"Yeah. The buy will happen at the embassy. Casey and Ilsa are taking point and will be doing all the heavy lifting. I'll be in the van running comms and tapping into security video feeds."

She slid her gaze his direction. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how to start. "What?"

"I was just thinking. I'm pretty good at the whole video hacking thing." He gave her a hopeful look. "Maybe I could go with you?" He asked like one of the kids wheedling her for something.

"Oh, no. No way, Chuck." She tossed the eyeliner back in her bag.

"Why not?"

"Well, you're not a spy, you're not trained and I don't want you getting hurt."

"How could I get hurt if all I do is sit in the van with you?"

She frowned.

"You trained me on self-defense and how to use a gun."

"That was for you to protect yourself, not to go looking for trouble."

"I'm not looking for trouble. I'd be there to help you with the technical stuff. You said it yourself. I am King of the Nerds." He puffed out his chest. "My exploits as the head of the A/V squad at my high school are legendary."

She couldn't stop a giggle.

He kept his face straight. "I'll have you know my name is still whispered with reverence in the hallowed halls of that esteemed institute of learning."

"You mean like this?" She put her lips right next to his ear and said in a low, breathy voice, "Mmmmmm, Chuck Bartowski."

She couldn't deny the pleasure she felt when his whole body was wracked by a shudder. "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't say it like that—nor would I want them to for that matter—but _you_ have my permission to say it that way any time you want."

She chuckled. It did occur to her, though, that he was right about his abilities. While she was certainly passable on the "technical stuff" as he called it, he was clearly more than qualified to help her. She could feel her defenses weakening. Working on her eyelashes with the mascara brush, she said, "Casey wouldn't be happy."

"Casey's never happy."

"And Graham," she pointed at him with the tiny, black brush. "He'd flip to find out a civilian was on a mission."

"I'm not a civilian. I get paychecks from the CIA just like you do. Although mine don't come with mission bonuses. Seriously Sarah, I should just retire and become a kept man."

She snorted and narrowed her eyes at him. "Focus, Chuck. You know what I mean."

He sat up straighter and held his fingers up in the Boy Scout sign. "I promise I will not leave the van for any reason. Besides, you'll be right there. You'll protect me. I happen to know you're an excellent bodyguard." He managed to bounce only one eyebrow at her, which eroded her defenses further.

Pressing her lips together she tried to hide a smile. "What about the kids?"

"Morgan will be there with them. Agent Vegas is back from Amsterdam and Agent Barstow is there, too. Three adults with seven kids? That seems like a decent ratio."

"Don't forget one of the kids is Megan."

He bounced his head from side-to-side. "Fine. Six kids and a pint-sized ninja spy in training, then. One of them can play her man-to-man. Besides, I heard Casey say that Vegas and Barstow are great at asset protection and that's one of the main reasons Graham sent them with us in the first place." He reached out and tugged at her top, pulling her to him so that she stood in front of him, his knees on either side of her. Resting his hands on her hips, he said in all seriousness, "You know that if I didn't think I wouldn't be safe, I wouldn't even ask to go with you. But I'm the best person to be there with you and you know it. You can concentrate on the spy part of the mission, keeping Casey and Ilsa safe, making sure the weapon is secured and Goya is caught. Meanwhile, I can worry about the video feeds and hacking into things that will help make sure the mission succeeds."

She reached up and fiddled with his wonderfully ugly tie. As much as she didn't want to admit it, he was right. With him there to run comms and video, she could concentrate on the mission itself. Beckman had said it was a top-level threat, even superseding the Benoit hunt. The mission had to succeed. And in her estimation, Chuck being there with her would ensure that it would.

"Okay, you can come with me."

He gave her a slow smile. "Really?"

"Yes. But you have to promise to stay in the van. No matter what."

He nodded slowly, then leaned forward and kissed her. "No matter what."

~ O ~

"The kids missed sightseeing with you today, Casey," Chuck said as Sarah navigated the van through the streets of Paris to where they were picking up Ilsa. "Lizzie said the Louvre wasn't the same without your unique take on art."

Sarah chuckled. "Fred said he wished you were there so he could have watched you try to explain to Martie and Megan why the Venus de Milo is topless."

He was glad he dodged that bullet. "The woman has no arms and they wondered about that?" He glanced at Sarah. "I bet Curtis didn't worry about her being topless."

Chuck snorted from his seat behind Sarah. "Let's just say he had all the inappropriate responses any twelve-year-old boy would have."

Casey smirked. He did kind of wish he _had_ been there for that. "Yeah, well, sorry I didn't have time to stand around and gawk at the Mona Lisa. Somebody had to get geared up for this op. You can't exactly pick up one of these vans at Hertz Rent-A-Car. The amount of red tape I had to cut through to get this thing," he complained. "In the end, I had to have Barstow sign for it since it came from the CIA and they would only sign it out to one of their own. Walker, if you crash this thing, he'll be coming after you."

"I'm not going to crash it, Casey."

He turned and glared at Chuck. "I still can't believe I got talked into allowing you to be here at all."

Chuck stared back and answered him evenly. "You agreed because you know I can help this mission succeed."

When Walker had first brought up the subject of Bartowski helping her out in the van, Casey had vehemently and immediately spiked the idea. Then she'd used the same arguments on him that Chuck had used on her. As much as it made his eye twitch in annoyance, they were right. This mission couldn't fail and the nerd was really good with all that computer and video crap. He'd reluctantly agreed. "Just don't go and do something stupid like leave the van."

"Why would I leave the van when I'll be there with the beautiful and charming Agent Sarah Walker?"

Casey's ire immediately flared. "Look, Bartowski. You're not on this mission so you can play grab-ass kissy-face with your wife."

Chuck's face fell. "You mean I can't put my 'If the van's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'" bumper sticker on the back of the van?"

His angry glare was torn from Chuck when Sarah snorted. "Don't think I won't toss your boy-toy out of this van and leave him by the side of the road," he snapped at his partner.

Sarah cut her eyes in Casey's direction, but the smirk didn't disappear.

"You seem a bit more on edge than usual," Chuck said, drawing Casey's attention away from Sarah. "Is all this hostility spilling over from your unresolved issues with Ilsa? You know, it's not good to keep all of that inside. You need to let those feelings out."

Casey face twisted in rage as he unclipped his seatbelt and started to lunge at Chuck. "I'll let those feelings out," he growled, "all over you!"

Sarah quickly stopped Casey with a hand to his chest and shoved him back into his seat. Glancing into the rearview mirror, she warned, "Chuck, I don't think now's the best time to bring that up."

Casey jammed the buckle of his seatbelt back into the clip and stared straight through the windshield. His whole body was coiled like a spring and he could feel the vein in his neck throb.

"You two are as bad as Curtis and Fred," Sarah huffed under her breath.

"He started it," Casey grumbled. "And you just egg him on."

No one spoke again. Only the sound of the radio playing softly in background overcame the quiet. When the earnest strains of "Endless Love" filled the vehicle, a wave of irritation crashed through Casey. "Of all the… I hate that song," he snarled and savagely pounded the off button with a balled fist.

Now that the radio was off, they drove in silence until Sarah pulled the van to a stop in front of a bus stop where a woman with long blonde hair sat waiting on a bench. Wearing a black skirt, a long sleeved white dress shirt and black vest, she looked like a waitress on her way to work. Casey pressed a button on the dashboard and the side door slid open. The woman climbed in and sat down in the remaining open seat in the van. She looked at Chuck and frowned. "Who are you?"

"I'm Sarah's—"

"He's my tech expert," Sarah said, interrupting him. "Chu—, Charles… Carmichael. He'll be in here with me during the op." The van door slid closed. Sarah maneuvered the van away from curb and into traffic.

"Hi," he said, giving her a small wave. "You can call me Chuck. Everyone does."

"We never discussed having another person involved," Ilsa said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Get over it," Casey sniped. "He's good with all the nerdy electronics crap, so just drop it."

"Fine. Here." She shoved one of the bags she'd carried into the van with her forward for Casey to take.

He grabbed the bag and peered down inside. "Aw, you can't—. Seriously, Ilsa?"

"Yes, John."

"But it's been years since I was in Costa Gravas," he groused. "No one at this shindig will recognize me."

"We can't take any chances."

"Yeah, Casey," Chuck said, obviously trying to keep the humor out of his voice. "We can't take any chances."

Casey snarled at him but otherwise didn't respond. She was right, though. They couldn't take any chances. He lifted the wig from the bag and pulled it onto his head. Flipping down the visor, he looked at himself in the mirror. He groaned and was tempted to open the door and jump out of the van. The long-ish hair of the wig made him look like a reject from Beatlemania. The soul patch he stuck to his chin just below his lower lip made him feel more of an idiot. "The things I do to save the world," he grumbled as he slipped the thin, black-rimmed hipster glasses onto his face.

"The world thanks you, John Casey," Chuck said. Casey turned to launch a verbal assault, but realized by the look on Chuck's face that he was actually being sincere. His ire ebbed and he turned to face forward again, not seeing the thoughtful glance Ilsa directed his way.

When Sarah parked the van on the street not far from the embassy, Casey stuck his earwig in place and said, "Let's get this show on the road."


	21. Someone Saved My Life Tonight Sugar Bear

**A/N: **As always, thank you for reading. Thank you for your reviews, tweets, PMs, favorites, and follows. I appreciate them all. And I want to give a hearty "Welcome!" to the new readers who have recently stumbled across this (and the previous) story. It's great to have you coming along for the ride.

**AgentInWaiting, **as always, did a remarkable job betaing this chapter. In a lot of ways, this was a challenging chapter for me, and I thank him for his patience and support. I also must thank **Frea** for the therapy session.

Finally, please note: this AU version of Goya, having not known the love of a good woman, tilts towards the dangerous side. He is the Goya who would, in cold blood, execute Casey and the Goya who secretly obtained a nuclear arsenal.

**Chapter 21 – Someone Saved My Life Tonight, Sugar Bear**

The wig Casey was wearing felt like a badger with dandruff had latched onto his scalp and died. All he wanted to do was rip off the horrible thing, throw it to the floor and put a couple of rounds into it. That way it would never be able to torment another human being. Then it hit him that perhaps he should keep it and use it as a method of torture the next time he needed to get someone to talk. Forget waterboarding. "Wigs by Ilsa" would strike fear into the hearts of men and make them jabber like a thirteen-year-old girl with a new cell phone.

Aside from the wig from hell, thus far the mission had been unremarkable. He and Ilsa were working behind the bar, mixing drinks for diplomats from the various embassies and consulates, their aides-de-camp and other assorted party-goers. Casey's French and Spanish were serviceable and for the most part, he didn't have too much trouble understanding what drinks people were asking for. In addition, they had worked out a system where Ilsa would smoothly step in and take over the drink order if he couldn't decipher what was being requested. Fortunately, that had only happened a couple of times.

For belonging to a small island nation, the embassy of Costa Gravas was impressive both inside and out. The front had a massive wrought iron gate with the Costa Gravan coat-of-arms attached to an arch over it. After stepping through an imposing set of double doors and into the foyer guests were met by two security guards—dressed in their formal uniforms—standing on either side of the entrance to the grand reception room and checking each guest's invitation as they arrived.

Once through security, the guests were ushered down a hallway to the Grand Reception Hall where the party was being held. It was an especially large and stunning room. White marble floors were covered with thick oriental rugs. A green, red and yellow Costa Gravan flag covered the wall at one end of the room. An enormous marble statue of the premier swathed in Roman robes, his head encircled by a wreath of laurels, dominated the other. As Casey poured a glass of wine for one of the guests, he stifled a snort at the sheer audacity of the guy. He was obviously trying to liken himself to Julius Caesar, which wasn't even original. Napoleon Bonaparte had done the same thing nearly two hundred years before this joker had.

Casey's eyes swept the room, awaiting the grand entrance of the Generalissimo. The intel they had received indicated the buy would take place after Goya had received his guests. He hadn't appeared at the party yet, so they were stuck tending bar.

The piece the string chamber orchestra was playing caught his attention. It reminded him of a ketchup commercial. "Hey, Bar—um, Chuck," Casey said quietly into his comm as he turned away from the bar and grabbed an empty glass to pour a drink. "Can you hear the music in the background?"

There was a pause and then, "Yeah," Chuck replied slowly from his position in the van, obviously not understanding where the question was going.

"Your noggin is full of all kinds of useless trivia and crap. What's the song the musicians are playing?"

"You mean the one from the ketchup commercial?" Chuck inquired.

Sarah spoke up through the comm. "What's this about a song, Casey? I thought we're all supposed to 'keep our head in the game' and not get distracted."

"Well, there's a difference between not being distracted and dying of boredom," he muttered softly as the ice he dropped into the glass clinked against the side. "I wish the Generalissimo would get the ball rolling. Where is he anyway? He must be here in the embassy somewhere."

"Oh, he's in the embassy," Sarah replied. "We've been following his movements on the different video cameras we hacked into. He's um… occupied at the moment."

Chuck's snort came through loud and clear, triggering a scowl from the major. He unscrewed the cap from the vodka bottle but didn't pour. "Is it the weapons buy? Are they starting early? Do we need to move on him now? Why didn't you say something?"

After another short pause, Chuck said carefully, "You know that scene at the beginning of _The Godfather_ where Sonny Corleone and one of his sister's bridesmaids have a… ah… encounter… against a door?"

Casey's frown deepened. "Yeah." He poured the vodka, the ice crackling as the liquid trickled over it.

"Our favorite dictator is doing a re-enactment of that scene with a young woman from the wait staff."

That disturbing bit of information hung there for a moment before Casey replied, "Copy." He nearly swallowed the drink he had just made to keep the rising bile down.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Sarah said pointedly, "Anyway, to change the subject and answer your question from before, the music is Mozart. _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik_."

Casey handed the drink to a guest who thanked him and moved away. "Still makes me think of ketchup." There were no other guests awaiting drinks, so Casey snagged a towel and wiped the counter in front of him. "Now I'm hungry for a burger."

"I don't think you'll get one of those there tonight, but you have a tray incoming from the kitchen that's promising. Looks like some kind of mushroom _hors d'oeurve_. Maybe you can snag some of those," Chuck said.

"Roger that."

While Casey tried to figure out how to lift some food from a tray carried by a passing waiter, Ilsa busied herself by deftly slicing up a lime. The comms remained silent other than Chuck's short bursts of commentary as they watched Goya's "activities." His exclamation of, "I did _not_ need to see that!" was quickly followed by "Wow! Look at the way she just—Ow!"

It was less than a minute later that Sarah's voice got their attention. "Okay, now that _that_ tender moment between the Generalissimo and his 'bridesmaid' is over," she said sardonically, "I think Goya's about to join the party."

"Copy that," Casey replied quietly.

The musicians played a fanfare to get everyone's attention. At the bottom of a wide staircase, a man in navy blue livery called out in a clear voice, "_Atención por favor_. Generalissimo Alejandro Goya!"

The strains of the Costa Gravan national anthem began to play and Goya slowly descended the stairs, smiling and waving to his applauding guests. He wore a sharp, dark blue uniform with gold buttons, gold braided epaulets on the shoulders and a shiny blue satin sash across his chest. He stopped a few steps before he reached the bottom and beamed. When the anthem ended, he spread his arms wide, grinned and addressed the crowd in a gravelly voice, "Greetings my friends and welcome. I am honored by your presence. Please, eat, drink and enjoy my country's hospitality." There was more applause and as the music resumed, he finished descending the stairs and moved through the crowd, shaking hands and slapping backs. He left in his wake a host of smiling and enthralled people.

"The consummate politician," Casey growled in disgust. "All he needs are some babies to kiss and he'll be all set."

"No one ever said he wasn't charming and charismatic," Ilsa said. "That's what makes him so dangerous."

~ O ~

Chuck and Sarah sat next to each other in the van, their gazes flicking from one monitor to the next. Between the screens attached to the walls, the laptops and keyboards covering the small counters and the veritable armory of weapons covering every inch of previously empty space, it was close quarters. Not that they minded, of course. A spark shot through her every time they accidentally touched each other.

"We don't know what the guy the Generalissimo is meeting looks like," they heard Casey growl through their headphones, "so you two need to keep your eyes on those feeds and watch for anything hinky."

"Hinky or kinky?" Chuck asked. "'Cause I gotta tell you, I've had enough of _one_ of those for tonight."

"Don't make me come out there and pummel you," Casey snarled.

"Hinky. Roger that," Chuck replied, grinning and winking at Sarah, his eyes shining with excitement.

He was so adorable. Sarah pressed the button that cut their audio feed to Casey and Ilsa so they could talk and not be overheard. "You look like you're enjoying your first official mission, even if it is just sitting in a van, Agent Carmichael."

"Yeah, I am," he said, almost bouncing in his chair. At the use of his newly minted alias, he flashed her a brilliant grin, causing her to melt some more. "I get that you don't want Ilsa to know we're married, but where did Carmichael come from?"

Dropping her gaze, she said sheepishly, "It was the first thing that popped into my head. It was the name of my fifth grade teacher. I had quite the crush on him."

Somehow, his smile grew wider. "Really?"

"Really." Quirking an eyebrow, she said, "No fair using that information against me." When his smile turned devious, she added, "I'm sure I can get Morgan to give up all kinds of intel on the teachers you had crushes on."

The sly look disappeared and was immediately replaced by panic. Shaking his head violently, he sat up straighter in his chair and babbled, "No! Nononono! You _really_ don't want to do that."

She chucked him under the chin with the tip of her index finger. "I _really_ do, but you've been so patient and understanding when it comes to my past, I want to return the favor." Her eyes flashed with amusement. "Anyway, I'm sure I'll find out one way or another someday."

He heaved a faux aggrieved sigh. "Having all my secrets exposed. The one downside to being married to a spy."

"Speaking of downsides. I'm sorry sitting in this van isn't exactly glamorous."

"This might seem like drudgery to you, but to me, this is all really cool."

"I have to admit, it's nice having you here."

"And we're finally alone," he replied, lifting her hand and pressing his lips to the back of it. As he did so, he gave her a smoldering stare.

She narrowed her eyes. "Chuck, we're on a mission. And Casey would kill us if he found out—"

His smolder gave way to an amused grin. He took her hand away from his lips, but still held it. "I know. I'm teasing. I get how important this mission is and wouldn't do anything to mess it up." Shrugging a shoulder, he said, "I just wanted you to know that I noticed."

"Oh, trust me," she sighed. "I noticed, too."

After sharing knowing smiles and a sweet kiss that went on much longer than they realized, Sarah opened their comms and returned their attention to the bank of screens in front of them.

~ O ~

Goya worked his way across the room and approached the bar. His eyes locked on Ilsa as he swaggered toward her. "I am so happy to know I have the most beautiful bartender in the world gracing us with her presence at my little party," he said once he came to stand in front of her.

Turning his head slightly to address Casey, but never taking his eyes from Ilsa, he continued, "Rum and Coke." When Casey moved away to make the drink, Goya rested on his elbows on the bar and leaned closer to her. "Perhaps a little later we can enjoy a private party of our own? Yes?" he murmured smoothly.

Even as Casey wanted to grab the smug bastard by the throat and literally rip it from his body, Ilsa gave the Generalissimo a coy glance and cooed, "I would love nothing more than to spend some time alone with you, Premier Goya."

A self-satisfied smile grew on Goya's face as he continued to stare into Ilsa's. Then his eyes clouded. "Have we met before? Have you ever been to my country?"

Casey's heart rate shot up. He made a conscious effort to keep his actions controlled as he made the drink. He knew Ilsa could handle the situation, but it still didn't keep him from quickly coming up with three different ways for them to immediately escape if needed.

"I'm sorry to say I have not visited your country," she pouted, sticking out her lip. Casey peeked over at them in time to see the Generalissimo's gaze drop to Ilsa's pouty frown. She leaned her elbows on the bar and moved her face to within inches of his. "I'm also sure I've never met the Generalissimo." She dropped her gaze to Goya's mouth and slowly ran her tongue over her lips. "I'm sure I would never forget meeting a man like you."

Goya swallowed hard, his eyes riveted to Ilsa's slightly parted and inviting mouth. "I have an important meeting in a little while. After that, I will send an assistant to you. He will bring you to me."

"I look forward to it," she replied in a deep, throaty voice.

Goya seemed both mesmerized and paralyzed by Ilsa. It was only when Casey loudly cleared his throat and set the drink on the bar near the other man that he snapped out of his reverie.

"Thank you, bartender," he said, addressing the air more than Casey since his eyes were still glued to Ilsa. "I will see you later, my dear."

Ilsa gave him one last seductive smile. "You can count on it."

~ O ~

Chuck leaned back in his chair and dragged his hands across his face while Sarah blew out a breath in relief. They had watched and heard the entire exchange between Ilsa and Goya, both clutching the other's hand the entire time. Like Casey, Sarah had been analyzing the different options available to her should she need to rescue Casey and Ilsa had Goya recognized her as Victor Lazaro's wife. She was hugely relieved when Goya—clearly pleased at his prowess—moved away from the bar and mingled amongst his guests.

"Well done, Ilsa," Sarah said into her headset mic.

"Thank you," she replied. "It was mostly just getting his mind on something other than where he'd seen my face before."

"So you met the Generalissimo before?" Chuck asked.

"No, although I'm sure my picture is in my dossier. It's probably quite old. I've spent very little time in Costa Gravas for them to get a current photo of me. My husband is well known, but I have remained in the background here in France. I'm sure the wig helped as well."

"At least we know the buy will happen soon, so everyone stay alert," Casey ordered.

At that moment, Sarah's phone buzzed. After glancing at the screen, she switched off the audio again and said, "It's a reply from Barstow. I texted him a little while ago, asking how the kids were doing."

"What's Scott have to say?"

"I'm not sure he likes it when you call him that."

"Calling him by his last name seems so impersonal."

She gave him a dubious look, but otherwise didn't respond. Reading the text, she said, "He says after a spirited game of Hide and Seek, Megan and Martie are now asleep in our bed, Morgan and the boys are in their room and he's sitting on a chair in the hallway keeping watch outside the girl's room. Vegas will relieve him soon."

"Good man. No hint of impropriety with him," Chuck said with approval. "He's a real straight shooter."

Sarah frowned. "How can you play Hide and Seek in a hotel room?"

Chuck rested a hand on her thigh and squeezed it. "At this point, it doesn't matter," he said. "It sounds like everything is under control, so there's no need to worry. Okay?"

She nodded and huffed a breath. As she pressed the button opening their comms again, she chastised herself for being paranoid and overprotective. Of course Chuck was right. The kids were fine. She shook off the feeling and glanced up at the screen in front of her. Goya stood with a group of admirers, chatting and laughing. "Whenever you're ready, _El Jefe_," she said to the image. "Whenever you're ready."

~ O ~

Sarah tensed when she saw Goya make eye contact with someone across the room and then nearly imperceptibly tilt his head, as if bidding the other person to follow.

"Casey, Ilsa," Sarah said, "Goya just made contact. He and two of his bodyguards are headed for the kitchen."

"Copy," Casey said. "Why the kitchen?"

Chuck typed furiously at the keyboard in front of him and zoomed in on the kitchen on the schematic of the embassy. Sarah spun around in her chair when he tapped on her shoulder. Peering at the screen, she said, "He might be going to get some canapés, but I doubt it. There's a set of stairs right off the kitchen." Chuck typed some more and reoriented the schematic. "The next floor has both his office and a library. The buy might happen in one of those two rooms."

"Roger that," Casey replied. "What about his contact?"

"Chuck, keep an eye on Goya for a minute," Sarah said, pointing at a screen. She scanned the monitors, looking for anyone or anything slightly off. "There!" she said, pointing at the screen showing a man with a briefcase. "Casey, little guy with a briefcase at your ten o'clock. He's headed toward the main staircase."

"Got him," Casey said. "You two watch the guy with the briefcase. We'll go up the kitchen staircase. No one will even notice us if we go through there."

"That's perfect," Sarah responded, examining the schematic again. "The security room is just down the hall from that staircase. After you take out the guards there, you can go straight up to the second floor."

Chuck slid his chair in front of another keyboard, his fingers flying over it. One of the screens flickered blank for a split second and then came back on with the feed from Goya's office. It was empty. He did the same thing to the screen to the right of the first and pulled up the library. That room, too, was currently empty.

"Chuck, you make sure you get the feeds for those two rooms up," Casey said.

"He's way ahead of you," Sarah replied, nearly bursting with pride. His instinct and intuition was impressive. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. In response, he waggled his eyebrows while putting a new feed on a third monitor, this one showing the hallway between the library and office. "So sexy," she whispered, causing her husband to snicker and shake his head.

~ O ~

"Okay, Ilsa," Casey said. "Let's get to work."

"Grab some empty bottles and follow me," Ilsa instructed. Casey did as he was told and loaded up his arms. He followed her as she stepped out from bar and approached one of the servers carrying a large, nearly empty silver tray. Only two flutes of champagne remained. Even as the two spoke in rapid French, Casey knew Ilsa was asking the server to cover for them while she and Casey went to the kitchen to get some more bottles to restock the bar. The man frowned and asked a question. Ilsa took on a sudden demure and embarrassed posture, blushed slightly, glanced at Casey and then answered in a low tone. A knowing smirk grew on the server's face as he shot an approving look Casey's way. He handed his tray to Ilsa and walked behind the bar.

"He doesn't think we're going into the kitchen to get bottles to restock the bar, does he?" Casey asked.

"Oh, yes, he does. It's just that I told him that we wouldn't be back for twenty or thirty minutes since we had something else that needed to be attended to."

It was a good thing he had a firm grip on the bottles because his hands suddenly got sweaty.

No one paid any attention to them as they crossed the room and entered the kitchen, where they were similarly ignored. Heads down, chefs prepared the food while the wait staff loaded up trays to take around to hungry party-goers. Ilsa set the tray down near the bottles of champagne. Then she put an assortment of _hors d'oeurves_ on the tray next to the two flutes of champagne. When one of the young men looked up from his work and gave her a quizzical look, she said in French, "For the men down the hall."

The man nodded and then glanced at Casey. "He's helping me," Ilsa answered his unspoken question with a roguish smile. Casey tried to give the man the same kind of dopey smile Bartowski seemed to have whenever he was around Walker. He must have succeeded since the only response from the man was a wolfish grin and a wink of approval.

Casey set the empty bottles in the trashcan and followed Ilsa as she carried the tray out of the kitchen and down the hall. "The security room is the third door on the right," Sarah murmured.

"Copy," Casey replied quietly.

They reached the unmarked door. Ilsa knocked and waited. "We brought some food and drinks for you," she called out. After a few seconds, there was a loud click as the deadbolt was unlocked and the door swung open, revealing a guard with a pleased smile on his face as he took in Ilsa and the treats. The delight turned quickly to surprise as Casey's balled fist rammed into his face with a sickening crunch. The man stumbled back and fell to the floor. Before the guard sitting at the panel of screens could turn around, Ilsa dumped the contents of the tray on the floor, reared back and smashed the heavy tray on the back of his head. He lurched forward, then tipped sideways off his chair and crumpled to the ground.

"Nice backhand," Casey said, eyeing the serving implement that now sported a serious dent.

She gave him a small smile and set it on the desk. They removed the guards' pistols and handcuffs from their belts. Rolling each unconscious guard onto their fronts, they cuffed their hands behind their backs. Casey opened a storage cabinet set in the corner of the room, looking for a place to stash the weapons and eyed a roll of gray duct tape. After setting the two pistols at the very back of the top shelf of the cabinet, he grabbed the tape. He tore off a strip and handed it to Ilsa, who placed it over the mouth of the guard she'd taken out. Casey ripped another strip off and did the same to the other guard.

Straightening her vest, Ilsa asked, "Are we clear to go upstairs?"

"Yes and no," Sarah replied.

Casey growled his annoyance with that answer. "What the hell, Walker?"

"Yes, you are clear to go to the staircase. And no, you can't go all the way up yet. Goya's contact is in the library and he's in his office."

He scowled. "We can't wait here and we don't want to be seen hanging around the hallway, what do you suggest we do?"

Before Sarah could answer, Ilsa replied, "I think we should hide in the stairway. Hopefully it will only be a minute or two."

"I agree," Sarah said. "That way you'll be ready when it's time to move."

"Roger," Casey said. "Let's go."

He made one final sweep of the room before he followed Ilsa out the door, closing it quietly behind him. They calmly walked down the hall and turned at the entrance of the staircase. They nearly missed it since it was only the size of a wide doorway. Because it was surrounded by walls, they only had to go up a few steps before they were hidden from below.

Standing on the step just below Ilsa, Casey asked, "Walker, are we clear?"

"Negative," came her response.

He cursed quietly under his breath. "Let's hope they pick one room or the other soon."

The air in the staircase was warm and stagnant. It only seemed to grow warmer as they stood silently and waited. Trickles of perspiration slid down his temples as his whole head sweated and itched under the foul, torturous wig. Casey was about to ask Sarah again if they were clear when a voice from below shouted up at them, "Hey! What are you two doing there?"

Before he knew what hit him, Ilsa's lips were on his. She'd thrown an arm around his neck and was kissing him. Dumbfounded, he didn't immediately react and his arms remained limp at his sides. A hissed "We need to sell this!" finally prompted him to put his hands on her hips and start kissing her back. It was at the same time familiar and forbidden, heated and restrained, as if they both could have lost themselves, but knew they couldn't. It was a kiss between long lost lovers.

The yelling at the bottom of the stairs continued. He didn't catch everything being shouted, but he realized the gist of it was, "You can't do that there" and "Get back to work."

Ilsa released him and took a step back. From the dim light coming from the bottom of the stairs, he saw her eyes fill and glint.

Turning away from his gaze, Ilsa responded to the person shouting in an apologetic tone, obviously trying to make amends for being "caught." The aggrieved party was apparently placated since he walked away and left them alone.

Casey swallowed hard and tugged at the collar of his shirt, convinced it was trying to choke him to death. It was extremely hot and he felt like he was perspiring from every pore of his body.

"Is everything okay, there, Casey?" Sarah asked through the comm. "We don't have eyes on you in the stairwell."

"Yeah," he answered curtly.

"We heard shouting and some… er… heavy breathing," Chuck added delicately.

"We were discovered and I had to improvise," Ilsa stated, running a hand over her blonde wig. "I kissed John so the person who caught us would think we were simply lovers stealing a moment."

Casey winced at the loud and sudden hacking cough blasting through his earpiece. "Can it, Carmichael. You're gonna bust my eardrum," he grumbled. His irritation with this whole mission was growing steadily by the minute.

"I'm sorry," Chuck managed as he gasped for air. "Did you say you kissed—"

Ilsa frowned and interrupted him. "I'll have you know that John Casey is a very passionate man and any woman would be—"

More coughing ensued.

"I'm sure Agent Walker would kiss John if it was—"

This outburst of coughing—which now included gasping and wheezing—ended abruptly, mid-hack. Casey's earpiece went silent. "We only did it for the success of the mission," Ilsa said, staring at him.

His whole body tensed. "Yeah. The mission." He really needed to get out of the damned stairway. "Speaking of the mission, can we move yet?"

His earpiece crackled to life. "Sorry about the coughing," Sarah said. "Something went down Chuck's pipe wrong."

"I don't want to hear anything about any of Chuck's pipes," Casey grumbled. "Just give us the damned intel."

Clearing her throat, Sarah advised him, "Goya just walked into the library. You have two guards outside the door and one in the library with Goya and the seller."

"Roger that," Casey replied.

He waited while Chuck and Sarah discussed schematics and the layout of the floor. "When you get to the top of the staircase, the library is about twenty-five feet down the hallway to the right."

"Ninety degree turn at the top of the stairs?"

"Affirmative. You're clear to move," Sarah said.

He wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, but not before a couple of beads made their way into his eyes. At the stinging and burning, he ripped off the glasses, dropped them on a step and crushed them under the heel of his shoe. That felt good. Then he balled both fists and rubbed his eyes. Finally, he bent over and slid a Glock from the holster at his ankle and cocked it. "Here we go."

"Copy," Sarah replied. "We'll have eyes on you once you're in the hallway."

Casey slowly crept up the stairs, his back pressed against one wall, with Ilsa, having retrieved her Walther P5 from her thigh holster, following.

When they reached the top of the stairs he stopped and peeked around the corner. Two guards, AK-103s held loosely in their arms, stood on either side of the door. Neither spoke as they stared blankly into space.

Casey pulled his head back and pointing the Glock toward the ceiling, took a couple of deep breaths and focused. He counted down in his head, and when he reached "one" he burst out from behind the wall and put a tranq dart into each of the guards. They collapsed and thumped to the carpeted floor in heaps.

"Casey! Hold up. Goya must have noticed the noise," Sarah warned him. "He turned toward the door."

He stepped back to his hiding place around the corner, put the tranq gun back in the holster and grabbed the Sig from his waistband at the small of his back.

"I knew I felt your Sig back there," Ilsa whispered. "The Glock?"

"Tranqs."

She smirked. "You've become quite the humanitarian."

"Yeah, you can nominate me for the Nobel Peace Prize." He worked the slide on the Sig. "Walker, we good to go?"

"Yeah. Go."

They walked quickly and quietly along the hallway, the plush carpet suppressing the sound of their footsteps. Casey picked up a rifle and removed the magazine. Ilsa did the same and handed the other magazine to him.

"Walker," Casey whispered. "What's behind the door to the left of the library?"

He heard a murmured conference and then Sarah answered, "A closet."

"Copy," he replied quietly. Opening the door, he saw that the closet was full of towels and linens. He took the two magazines, shoved them between two towels on the bottom shelf and closed the door.

Looking down at the unconscious guards, he decided not to take the time to secure them. He knew the whole thing would be over way before they awoke from their tranq dart induced naps.

Stepping over one of the guards to stand in front of the library door again, Casey dug into his front pocket and pulled out a small object in the shape of a dome. Under the clear covering, wires and relays ran all different directions. He ripped off the paper and exposed an adhesive that covered the flat bottom and stuck the device to the door. Then he pushed a small button on the side and a small red light flashed three times, which was then followed by a steady green one.

Casey remained silent as he waited for confirmation from the van that the device was picking up and recording the voices inside the room. He could hear keys on a keyboard clicking. "I boosted the signal strength a bit from here," Chuck said. "Now we can hear everything word they're saying."

~ O ~

Sarah intently watched black and white images of the two men as they conferred in the library while at the same time listening to the audio of their conversation through the speakers on the laptop sitting on the counter next to her. Chuck's eyes were glued to laptop screen making sure that every word spoken was being recorded. Goya and his guest stood directly across from each other, their closed briefcases lying on a square table that separated them.

Goya seemed perfectly at ease. His voice was smooth and confident while the other man was obviously jumpy and nervous. When his fingers weren't fidgeting with the handle of the briefcase, he nervously wiped his palms on the sides of his pants. His eyes bulged slightly and his anxious gaze flicked about the room.

Since Casey and Ilsa couldn't hear what was being said, Sarah provided a running commentary through their earwigs. She described the general setup of the room and the placement of each individual in it.

"Can you see the briefcase with the toxin?" Casey whispered.

"Yes. Looks like it's metal."

"Hopefully _this_ one is bulletproof," he whispered to Ilsa. Her eyes widened and then she nodded in understanding.

"Goya just called the seller Ugarte," Sarah told them.

Chuck spun in his chair and searched the name. Ugarte's picture and information from INTERPOL flashed up on the screen. Sarah scanned it quickly. "He's a second rate thief who's worked for just about every gun runner, drug trafficker and smuggler in Europe."

"He has an interesting voice," Chuck said. "I can't quite place the accent."

"Slovakian," she answered, turning away from the screen filled with Ugarte's information and again watching the scene in the library.

"Ugarte just opened his briefcase. There's a large cylinder secured in a cutout slot in gray protective foam." She listened for a minute and then said, "The cylinder is triple-lined for protection and safe for transport. The briefcase is bulletproof."

There was a relieved grunt from Casey.

"I guess that's why he feels comfortable with not wearing a hazmat suit when he's carrying it around," Chuck said.

"Ugarte asked to see the money," she commented.

She watched as Goya made a show of flipping open the clasps on the front of his briefcase and lifting the lid. As he turned it around, she saw that it was full of neatly stacked euro notes.

"Should we move in?" Casey asked. "Do we have enough evidence?"

"Monsieur Benoit will be very pleased," Sarah heard Ugarte's voice say through the speakers.

"Ugarte works for Benoit!" Sarah exclaimed. "Hold, Casey. We need to see if he says anything about Benoit."

Goya's voice filled the van. "It is indeed most fortunate Monsieur Benoit is able to conduct business despite his current need for concealment.

"Yes, he is an impressive man," Ugarte said vaguely.

"It is too bad he will not be making any money on this deal, however." Goya snapped his fingers. The bodyguard standing behind and to the left of his boss reached a hand inside his coat and withdrew a pistol, a suppressor attached to the barrel. He leveled the gun at Ugarte's chest and it spit two bullets out in quick succession. Ugarte, his face registering absolute shock, was driven backward against a wall covered with shelves of books. Hands clutched to his chest, he slowly slid to the floor.

"Holy crap!" Sarah shouted. "They just shot Ugarte! Casey, go!"

~ O ~

"I'll take the bodyguard and Goya and you secure the toxin!" Casey said, adrenaline flooding his system. He moved directly in front of the door and smashed his foot against it. The door flew open, the jam splintering under the force and sending bits of wood flying. He barreled into the room first, pointed his Sig at the bodyguard diving behind a leather wing-backed chair and pulled the trigger. The bullet zipped past the target and embedded in the spine of a book.

Goya flipped the table on its side and hid behind it, sending both briefcases sliding to the floor. Some of the stacks of euros fell out of the briefcase, but most stayed in, although now in a jumble.

Casey took cover behind a large floor globe with an ornately carved wooden base. It wasn't ideal for protection, but it was better than nothing, which was the only other option. Ilsa had gone straight for the briefcase with the botulinum toxin. She slammed the lid closed and slid it across the floor toward the door. A bullet from the bodyguard whizzed past her.

When the bodyguard took his shot at Ilsa as she went for the metal briefcase, Casey sent back a bullet his direction. It hit the leather back of the chair. White stuffing bloomed through the hole like a rose.

"Give up, Goya," Casey called. "You're trapped."

"I'm afraid you're wrong," the Generalissimo responded with a growl from behind the table. He commando crawled across the floor to a panel of bookshelves against a wall and gave it a shove. The whole wall swung inward, revealing an opening behind it, just large enough for him to escape through.

"Ilsa, no!" Casey shouted when he saw her scuttle on all fours toward Goya. "Just shoot him!" The globe he was hiding behind exploded when the bodyguard shot at him again. He ducked his head behind an arm to protect his face from the flying bits of shattered wood. Something hit the side of his head, and he felt sudden and sharp pains in his forearm and bicep.

Ilsa ignored Casey and went after her target. She reached Goya just as his head and shoulders disappeared into the opening. With one hand, she grabbed the back of his uniform, and with the other, pressed the barrel of her Walther to the back of Goya's head. "Don't move," she ordered him.

Unfortunately, she was now completely exposed. The bodyguard rose up over the back of the chair to take a shot at her. Ignoring the pain in his arm, Casey calmly squeezed off a round, hitting the other man in the shoulder. He cried out in pain, did a quarter turn and fell to the floor behind the chair.

In three steps, Casey crossed the room and picked up the pistol the bodyguard had dropped. Putting on the safety, he shoved the piece in his waistband. He looked down at the man who clutched at the wound in his shoulder. Dark red blood oozed from between his fingers, his face twisted in pain and rage as he sucked in air between gritted teeth. In a burst of fury, the man cut loose with a string of obscenities, calling Casey every name in the book and heaping upon his head every curse imaginable.

"That's not very nice of you, wanting my family jewels to shrivel up and fall off," Casey snarked, nudging the bleeding man's shoulder with a foot, causing him to shout out in pain.

Ilsa hauled Goya by the collar of his tunic out of the opening and sat him on the floor, her Walther still trained on this head. "You cannot arrest me," Goya said, his eyes flashing with defiance. "This is Costa Gravan soil."

From his back pocket, Casey fished out a pair of plastic handcuffs and tossed them to Ilsa, who caught them out of the air with her free hand. "I didn't care then and I don't care now."

"What do you mean?" Goya asked as Ilsa secured his hands behind his back.

Casey tore off the soul patch and tugged off the wig. It felt wonderful to finally remove the dead badger from his head.

"_Angel de la Muerta_," Goya breathed. He paled and his bravado disappeared. Diplomatic protocol was not going to matter to John Casey.

Silently, Ilsa dipped her head, indicating that Casey should more closely examine the wig in his hand. A large splinter from the globe was stuck in it. The tight weave of the cap stopped the shard from going into Casey's scalp. "Huh. Who knew?"

Goya's boldness returned. "You will never get out of the embassy without my people stopping you."

"That won't be a problem," Casey replied calmly, looking to the opening to the secret way out. "We were going to give you some drugs that made you look like you just had a heart attack, making it necessary for us to call in 'paramedics' to get you out of here. Now that we have this little passageway, that won't be necessary. I have the feeling our friends in the black SUVs will be able to find us wherever we come out. They'll take real good care of you." Casey looked over to the bodyguard. "You're coming along, too, since you shot a man in cold blood." The major turned to look at Ugarte. To his surprise, the man he believed to be dead and both briefcases were gone.


	22. A Bike, a Van and a Later Plan

**A/N: ** This chapter is already plenty long without a lengthy author's note, so I will be brief. Thank you for reading, reviewing, and encouraging. Your feedback is always appreciated and welcomed. Also, huge thanks to **AgentInWaiting** who caught my many errors in grammar, spelling and plot and helped me pound this chapter into something that (hopefully) makes sense.

(Hi, Seattle.)

**Chapter 22 – A Bike, a Van and a _Later_ Plan**

Casey and Ilsa, busy in a shootout, hadn't given Ugarte anything more than a cursory glance when they had stormed into the room. Bullets flying at them tended to keep their attention on the guy shooting said bullets.

Sarah and Chuck watched the whole scene unfold on a screen in the van. Ilsa had just gone after the Generalissimo when something caught Sarah's eye on the monitor next to the one they were watching. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Ugarte was hurrying down the hallway toward the staircase carrying a briefcase in each hand.

"Chuck! Ugarte's getting away!"

"Wait! I thought he was dead!"

As the thief flashed by on the screen, she noted two black splotches on the front of his clothes. "He's wearing a vest," she mumbled, mostly to herself.

She knew what she needed to do. "You stay here." When he opened his mouth to respond, she cut him off before he could get a sound out. "I want you here not only to make sure you stay safe, but you have a job to do. Casey, Ilsa and I need your eyes on these monitors." She snatched her Smith & Wesson from a counter, set the safety and slipped it into her waistband at the small of her back.

His concern for her was clearly etched on his face. At the same time, she felt her insides twist, not happy at all with leaving him alone. Ignoring the acid churning in her stomach, she scanned the screens. Goya had just opened the secret door. "Great," she grumbled. "A secret passageway. Just what we need."

She ran her hands through her hair. "Chuck, if things go sideways for Casey and Ilsa, you _do not_ go in there." She picked up a walkie-talkie and handed it to him. "If they need help, you contact the security team in position to take Goya into custody. Channel six. You _do not_ leave the van." She pinned him with a stare. "You got me?"

He nodded solemnly, his eyes wide.

She looked back at the images coming from the library. Casey had just shot the bodyguard and Ilsa was putting cuffs on Goya. At Casey's look of complete confusion when he glanced over at where Ugarte should have been, she said, "Casey, I think Ugarte is wearing a vest. He has both briefcases and is halfway through the embassy on his way out. We've got eyes on him. I'm closer at this point, so I'm going after him. Chuck'll coordinate between you and the extraction team."

"Roger that," Casey replied. "Why didn't you tell me he was still active? I'd have gone after him myself."

"Surveillance cameras didn't have the angle. I couldn't see him crawling on the floor."

Returning her attention to Ugarte, she watched him move from one screen to the next as he made for the front exit, pushing his way through the crowd of revelers. As the party wore on and the alcohol flowed, the noise level of the room had escalated significantly. It seemed no one on the main floor had any idea what was occurring upstairs.

"I have to go." She put her hands to Chuck's face and pulled him into a kiss. When it broke, she looked into his eyes. "I love you."

His eyes stared back into hers when he answered, "I love you, too." He kissed her swiftly. "Be careful. And don't worry about me. I'll be fine." He kissed her once more. "Go catch a bad guy."

"See you soon," she said and dropped her hands from his face. Sliding the side door of the vehicle open, she hopped out and pulled at the handle to close it. As her husband disappeared behind the sliding door, she yelled, "Lock the doors behind me! _And stay in the van!_"

Ignoring the swirling mix of emotion that threatened to bubble up, she concentrated on capturing Ugarte and the toxin. She jogged across the quiet street and down the sidewalk toward the front of the embassy.

Her quarry stepped through the open wrought-iron gate and out onto the sidewalk when Sarah was still twenty-five yards away. He turned away from her and walked quickly down the street. Never changing her pace, she slipped her pistol from her waistband and held it next to her thigh, gripping it tightly.

Suddenly, headlights from a car parked nearby flared on and Ugarte headed straight for them. Her pace went from a quick jog to an all-out sprint. When he heard her shoes pounding against the sidewalk, he glanced over his shoulder and then took off running, briefcases flailing, toward the awaiting car. The passenger door popped open and as Ugarte reached it, he made a careening turn—at one point hopping on one foot around the open door—and dove into the front seat. The car immediately pulled away, the door slamming closed as it accelerated.

Sarah stopped, took aim and fired three shots when the car roared past her. One bullet hit the front fender, one lodged in the passenger door and one shattered the backseat window. Unfortunately, the bullets did nothing to slow the car down. And while she wasn't able to get the numbers of the license plate as the car sped by, she saw it was a late model, dark blue Renault.

She needed wheels to follow them. Chuck would never get to her in time—and the van was cumbersome—so she stepped out into the street and waved her arms over her head, stopping the first vehicle that came her way. The single headlamp of a motorcycle jerked to a stop in front of her.

"Are you crazy?" the rider yelled at her in French. "What are you doing?"

"I need to borrow your motorcycle," she replied in kind as she approached him.

"No way!" he shouted, flipping up the visor on his helmet. "Do you know what kind of motorcycle this is? I'm not letting you just take it!"

She huffed an irritated sigh and rolled her eyes. "It's a Ducati Multistrada 1200." She leveled her gun at him. "Get off."

He immediately put his hands in the air. "Okay, okay. You can have it. Just don't shoot me!"

"I won't have to shoot you if you _get off the bike!_" she snapped. Her patience grew thin at the thought of Ugarte getting away.

As the rider slid off the motorcycle, Sarah grabbed the left handlebar grip, threw her leg over the seat and straddled the bike. "Give me the helmet," she ordered.

The man cursed, but complied. As he pulled the helmet off his head, she returned her pistol to her waistband. She flipped her hair back and slid on the tight fitting, full faced helmet, pleased that it would cover her whole face, not only for safety, but to keep her identity hidden as well. Her only complaint was that the design on the helmet was a little "loud." Not that she didn't like the red Chinese dragon. It was that she preferred a more understated all black. But then again, she realized she couldn't be too picky when she was "borrowing" someone's motorcycle.

"Check with the police in a couple of hours. They'll probably have it by then," she said as she squeezed the clutch lever with her left hand and revved the throttle a couple of times with her right. When the engine growled, it gave her a bit of a shiver. She depressed the gearshift with her left foot a couple of times to ensure that it was in first. Before flipping down the visor, she called out, "The world thanks you." The tires chirped when she let out the clutch and shot off down the street.

As the Ducati streaked right past their van, she wished she could have said something to Chuck on the comms, but that was impossible. Hopefully he had heard the exchange with the motorcycle rider and knew that she was in pursuit of Ugarte and his driver.

Three intersections down, the Renault made a left. They didn't seem to be driving very aggressively, so Sarah assumed they didn't know she was tailing them. That was okay with her. It was getting to be late in the evening, and it was a Sunday night, so traffic was light. She hung back from them as far as she dared, letting other cars come between them and hoping they wouldn't notice her.

As she followed the Renault, she found it more than a little exhilarating to be riding a motorcycle again. She could feel the restrained power of the engine as it rumbled beneath her. All that power at her command was a heady sensation. It was only waiting for her to twist the throttle hard to allow it to release its full potential.

Her reflections were interrupted when Ugarte's driver turned into a deserted narrow street. She had no choice but to follow. She tensed, knowing that their next move would tell her if they'd made her or not. Her answer came quickly. At the end of the block, the Renault made a hard, fast right turn. The tires screeched as it flew around the corner.

Cursing, Sarah cranked the throttle and the motorcycle sprang forward. She took the turn as fast as she dared, counter steering and leaning her right shoulder into it. The motorcycle responded beautifully. She was willing to get closer to the Renault now that they knew she was following them, as long as they didn't shoot at her. Unfortunately, as that thought popped into her head, Ugarte stuck a gun and part of his head out the passenger window and fired off a round her direction. She ducked behind the windscreen of the Ducati as the bullet missed her and her ride. Reaching around, she grabbed her Smith & Wesson. When Ugarte stuck his head out the window again, she squeezed off a shot at him. He jerked back inside the car. The bullet struck the side view mirror and cracked it into pieces. Ugarte must have thought it was a lucky shot, since he put his arm out the window once more. When her second bullet hit the mirror again, it took the casing clear off the door. After that, he kept all his body parts securely in the car.

The Renault made another sudden sliding left turn onto a larger street. Sarah followed close behind as the car sped up and wove through the light traffic. She increased her speed and easily slalomed the bike between the vehicles around her. Angry drivers honked and gestured as they zoomed past.

The driver of the Renault turned right at the next intersection. Headlights came directly at them as they drove the wrong way down a one-way street. Driver's blasted their horns, slammed on their brakes and swerved out of the way. Most of the cars ended up on the sidewalks on either side of the street. Sarah watched one run over a parking sign and come to a stop just before it would have slammed through the front window of a cheese shop.

_Crap!_ Another car turned onto the street up ahead. The driver hit the brakes and tried to maneuver out of the way but the car spun and ended up sideways, completely blocking the road. Rather than trying to stop, the Renault gunned the engine and smashed into the back quarter panel of the other car like they were competing in a demolition derby. Glass and bits of trim went flying. She shouted an expletive when she realized that the front of the spinning car was about to clip her. She smashed her foot against the back brake and squeezed the lever with her right hand. The back wheel locked up and the rear of the bike fishtailed badly. She hung on and somehow kept the Ducati under control. Her heart pounded as she watched the car coming to a rest just in front of her. Sucking down a couple of deep breaths, she steeled her nerves and steered around the mangled vehicle.

The Renault somehow managed to keep going after impact, but it had clearly sustained damage. Steam billowed over the top of the automobile as it entered an intersection. Cars traveling in either direction slammed on their brakes, causing a chain reaction of more honking and squealing tires. Beams from the cars' headlights pointed in strange and awkward directions.

Even though Ugarte's car made it through the intersection intact, it was drifting badly to the right. Light shining through the interior of Renault from the headlights of an oncoming car showed the driver slumped to one side. The brake lights never came on as the car smashed into a tree.

Sarah raced through the intersection. She'd not been paying close attention to the turns they had been making, so she was a bit surprised to find that they were right by the Seine. Had Ugarte's car not hit a tree, it would have crashed through a short concrete wall and plunged into the river.

Bringing the Ducati to a stop behind the vehicle, she observed that the passenger door was open. She slid off the motorcycle, took off her helmet and dropped it to the sidewalk. Her pistol raised, she ran to the open door and peered inside. Ugarte was gone. Scanning the interior of the car, she didn't see either briefcase. The unconscious driver was slumped over, blood oozing from a serious gash on his forehead. _Stupid_. He hadn't been wearing his seatbelt. She saw Ugarte's gun in the footwell and grabbed it. Checking the magazine, she saw it still had a half dozen rounds. She slapped the clip back into the pistol, reached back and stuck it in her waistband.

She searched the area, trying to locate Ugarte, spotting him about half way across a bridge, staggering along with a briefcase in each hand. His slow, stumbling gait told her that he had been injured in the crash as well. Running after him, it didn't take her long to catch up. He'd only made it half way across the bridge when she pointed her gun at him and called out, "Hold up, Ugarte."

Never stopping, he turned and shouted over his shoulder, "Go ahead and shoot me."

"I know you're wearing a vest," she called back. "You want it in the leg or the back of the head?"

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. "You seem to know all about me so I assume you know what's in this briefcase," he said, lifting the one with the toxin and holding it out over the water below. "You shoot me and this goes in the river to be picked up and opened downstream by some poor, unsuspecting soul."

She wasn't really sure what opening the canister would do, but she couldn't take the chance. She lowered her weapon, stooped and placed it on the ground. The briefcase remained over the Seine. "We seem to be at an impasse," he said.

"You tell me what I want to know and maybe I'll let you go."

He snorted derisively. "I highly doubt that. Who do you work for? French police? Interpol? The Americans? The British?"

"It doesn't matter. I know you work for Henri Benoit."

The man twitched. The streetlight in the middle of the bridge didn't give much light, but in the dark, she could still see the fear on his face grow at Benoit's name.

"Where's he hiding?" she asked.

His eyes bulged. "I never had any direct contact with him. Even if I had, I wouldn't tell you anything. I fear him a great deal more than I fear you."

That was probably true. And there were sure to be middlemen between a grunt like Ugarte and the head honcho. Eyeing the briefcase still held out over the river, she took a small step forward. "Fine. We don't need to talk about Benoit. I've seen your sheet. You've worked for a lot of different people over the years. Ever heard of someone by the name of Frost?"

His gaze—which had been shifting from one place to the next—snapped to her face. "I haven't heard that name in years. What's it to you?"

"Doing some follow up," she replied calmly. Pressing him, she continued, "Looking into Orion, too. Understand they both disappeared a number of years ago." She barely breathed as she slowly took another step closer to him.

"I had nothing to do with that."

She held her hands up, as if in surrender. "Never said you did. Only looking for information." Another step. "Thought maybe you might know something since they worked for Benoit, too."

He jolted at the name again. His outstretched arm lowered slightly with fatigue. She needed to get that briefcase sooner than later. _Almost there_. "You tell me something about Frost and Orion, and I'll make sure the authorities go easy on you."

His face twisted into a sneer. "No, thanks."

She lunged at his outstretched arm, grabbed the briefcase with both hands and wrenched it from his grip. He stumbled backward against the short wall. Whipping out the gun she'd taken from the car, she pointed it at his head and shouted, "Don't move."

He hesitated and then a look of serenity overtook his face. "I'd rather take my chances with the river than either you or Benoit." He pitched backward over the wall and plummeted into the dark water below. She peered over the side and waited for him to emerge from under the water. He didn't. She watched the briefcase full of money slowly float downstream. Unless a government agent got to it first, it was going to be like winning the lottery to whoever fished it out of the river. She'd make a phone call about it, but that wasn't her main concern. The important thing was that she had possession of the bioweapon. And while losing Ugarte was a disappointment, in the grand scheme of things, he was a small fish. She wouldn't lose any sleep over him.

Switching Ugarte's gun to her other hand, she picked up her Smith & Wesson and returned it to her waistband. She heaved a sigh of relief and realized that all she really wanted to do was talk to Chuck. She not only wanted to simply hear his voice, but she needed to let him know she had the bioweapon. She wanted to hear from him that Casey and Ilsa were okay.

Walking quickly back toward the motorcycle—she could hear police sirens in the distance and didn't want to still be there when they arrived—she pulled her phone from her back pocket and touched the screen. It rang several times and then went to voicemail. Frowning, she ended the call. She arrived back at the Ducati and set the briefcase down. She called him again with the same result. A kernel of panic began to form. Trying to remain calm and quash it before it bloomed in full, she opened the tracking app Chuck had written and touched his photo. The purple dot on the map showed that he—or at least his phone—was in the same place she had left him.

Lifting her head, she listened. The police sirens were close. She needed to go. She closed the app and called him one more time. There was no answer. She left a short, "Call me as soon as you get this" message.

The panic started to spread. She tried to combat it by telling herself that there were plenty of good reasons why he wasn't answering his phone. Unfortunately, she couldn't think of a single one. In the almost year she had known him, she could count on one hand the number of times he didn't answer his phone when she'd called him.

She pulled the helmet back on to hide her face from the small crowd that had formed and considered her options on how to secure the briefcase to the motorcycle. The storage areas were too small and the saddlebags had been removed. She ran to the driver's side of Ugarte's wrecked car and slid the key from the ignition. Rushing to the back of the car, she popped the trunk and found a tool kit. Flipping it open, the top layer was a jumble of screwdrivers, wrenches and pliers. Lifting out the tray, she nearly shouted with happiness when she saw the twisted mess of bungee cords. She freed three, strode back to the motorcycle, and quickly strapped the briefcase to the seat behind her. Jumping on the bike, she pushed the ignition button and revved the engine a couple of times. Smoke spewed from the back tire during her tight and aggressive U-turn. The police and ambulance were just arriving at the scene as she sped away.

She flew through the darkened streets of Paris back toward the Costa Gravan embassy. Now that she was no longer confined to following a car, she took the most direct route. Her jaw began to ache as she clenched her teeth, riding as fast as she possibly could while pushing back the whirlwind negative thoughts that crept into her mind.

_What if someone's kidnapped Chuck again? I still haven't signed the adoption papers. What was I thinking, leaving him by himself? The kids are going to blame me. I can't even imagine my life without—_

_Honey, you're spiraling_, his voice gently chided her in her mind. She blew out a breath. He was right. She focused on the street in front of her. No more spiraling.

That of course was easier said than done. Icy tendrils of nervousness crept through her body as she made the final turn onto the street where the van had last been parked. Relief flooded through her when she saw it still there. Unfortunately, her relief was quickly replaced by wariness and concern. As she closed in on the van, she saw that the two back doors were open. They shouldn't have been.

The Ducati came to a stop behind the van. She leapt off the bike and tore off the helmet. Her legs buckled when she saw him kneeling on the floor, phone in his hand.

"Chuck!"

Startled, he nearly dropped the phone. Looking up, he grinned and said, "Hi, honey! Hey, whoa!" The phone went flying again when Sarah reached up with both hands, pulled him out of the van and enveloped him in a full body hug.

"Thank god, you're here!"

"Yeah, I'm here. Where else would I be?"

Peering behind him and into the van, she was surprised to see an unconscious man lying prone on the floor. Shoelaces were roped around his hands and feet. Sarah stepped back and looked down. Her husband was standing in his socks and his chucks, sans shoelaces, sat on the desk. "I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls. I was a little occupied with…" He waved vaguely toward the bound man. "I tried calling you a couple of minutes ago, but you didn't answer." His voice was filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered, holding out her arms and turning around once. Then she hoisted herself up into the van, dragging Chuck behind her. Stepping across the mystery man, she gave her husband a gentle shove on his shoulders, causing him to flop back into his chair. Straddling his lap, she threw her arms around his neck, lowered her head and hungrily kissed him. All the tension of the evening melted away. He was safe. She could feel his relief as well as his body relaxed under her. His hands splayed against her back, he pressed her to him as he responded to her kiss. When it finally broke and they both caught their breaths, she asked, "Who's your friend?"

He shrugged. "Since we haven't been formally introduced, I call him 'Angry Costa Gravan Guy.' I assume he works for Goya since he was checking the vehicles up and down the street. His flashlight through the windshield caught me right in the face. Then he started yelling at me in Spanish right before he shot the lock off the back door. Apparently embassy security people are suspicious of large vans parked along the street. Too bad for him I've been trained by my kickass ninja wife." He tipped his head to the side and gave her a quizzical look. "I'm new to this. After you've tied someone up, do you take the tranq dart out or leave it where it is?"

She smiled and answered, "Leave it" before kissing him again.

~ O ~

It took a couple of hours to debrief and tie up loose ends. While Sarah had been chasing Ugarte, Casey and Ilsa had taken Goya and his injured bodyguard down the secret staircase to an underground passageway that led to a large, well-stocked bunker. Not wanting the weak and bleeding bodyguard to further slow them down, they'd stopped by the infirmary to patch up the gunshot wound before continuing on. Eventually, the passageway ended at a ladder that led up to a manhole cover in the middle of the sidewalk just outside the outer walls of the embassy. In less than five minutes from the time Casey told Chuck where to have the security team pick them up, Goya and his man were hauled up the ladder, trundled into the back of a large, black SUV and whisked away to an undisclosed location.

The guests of the party had been blissfully unaware of what had been occurring in and around the embassy and never even noticed Goya's absence. It wasn't until one of his men discovered the two bound guards in the video surveillance room that anyone knew something was amiss. It was then that Angry Costa Gravan Guy had found Chuck in the van. As it turned out, Sarah had been having her chat with Ugarte on the bridge at the exact same time Casey and Ilsa were handing Goya off and Angry Costa Gravan Guy was about to find Chuck.

Finally, they started the process to pass on the bioweapon to the appropriate authorities. Casey made a phone call informing the powers that be that it was secure and in their possession. While they waited for another large, unmarked black SUV to find them, Sarah picked the last bits of wood from Casey's arm with a pair of tweezers. Fortunately, the slashes weren't terribly deep, so she squirted some antiseptic on the cuts and pulled them together with butterfly bandages. Soon after she finished her ministrations, the SUV pulled up and the handoff was completed. The mission was over.

It was two-thirty in the morning when Chuck, Sarah and Casey returned to the hotel. They dragged their way through the lobby, up the elevator and down the hall. Agent Vegas was sitting in a chair in the hallway and looked more than a little relieved when all three had safely returned. Casey grunted his goodnight and went straight to his room.

Chuck and Sarah had Vegas open the boys' room to check on them. They peeked through the crack and saw Morgan sprawled out like a starfish on one bed while Fred and Curtis slept in the other. The older boy slept with his head at the foot of the bed and his feet inches from Curtis' face. Despite her exhaustion, Sarah smiled at the sight of her boys.

Once safely in their room, Chuck picked up Martie and carried her to the girls' room while Sarah lifted Megan off the bed to move her to the mattress on the floor. The little girl was warm with sleep and stirred a bit as Sarah knelt and laid her down. Lifting her head off the pillow a little, Megan's eyes stayed closed when she asked, "Did you catch the bad guys?"

Sarah stroked the messy blonde hair. At her touch, the little girl's head flopped back down into the pillow. "Mm-hmm. We'll tell you about it tomorrow. Go back to sleep."

Megan gave the tiniest of nods. Her breathing was deep and steady again when Chuck walked back from the girls' room having deposited Martie in the bed next to Lizzie.

"Everything okay?" she whispered.

He nodded and walked into the bathroom. While he was in there, Sarah straightened the top sheet of their bed. Finding Spy Barbie under the covers, she retrieved the doll and tucked it into Megan's curled arm.

When Chuck strode out of the bathroom, he was already stripped down to his boxers. He dropped his dirty clothes on the floor, headed straight for the foot of the bed and crawled to his side of it. He plopped flat on his belly, his arms spread eagle. As she headed for the bathroom, she had a feeling he would be asleep before the door closed behind her.

After taking care of the barest minimum of needs to get ready for sleep, she followed Chuck's lead, stripping off everything except her bra and panties. When she opened the door, to her surprise, she saw that he had managed to get under the sheet. Lifting the sheet up with a hand, he invited her to join him. She tossed her clothes on the pile he'd made and dove into the bed. Scooting over to him, she tried to get as close to him as humanly possible. He pulled her to him and after a skirmish of ardent kissing, they ended up in a tangle of arms and legs. Both wanted more, but didn't want to take the chance of waking Megan again.

They shared his pillow, her head resting next to his. "You really rode a motorcycle all over Paris?" he whispered.

"Mm-hmm. Well, not _all over_ Paris, but some of it." The way his thumb lazily rubbed back and forth on her skin made her want to—at the same time—fall asleep and take her chances of having to pay for a lifetime of therapy for Megan. The jaw-cracking yawn that overtook her told her that their youngest's psyche was safe.

"I can't believe I didn't get to see you on it," he said drowsily. "I know you were smoking hot." He quietly sang the first line of the chorus of "Born to be Wild" in her ear. His thumb stopped and his breathing grew deeper. "We'll get you any kind of bike you want when we get back home," he slurred. She felt his hand on her back twitch and she thought he had fallen asleep. His softly mumbled "black leathers" were his final words before sleep pulled him under.

She breathed in, reveling in his scent and blew out a contented sigh. Rubbing a hand across his chest, she murmured, "Done."

~ O ~

The last thing Sarah wanted to be was awake. She would have preferred to stay in bed, snuggled next to Chuck, asleep for another six hours. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Instead, she sat in the same pâtisserie she and the family had eaten breakfast at on Saturday. It had only been the day before yesterday, but a lot had happened since then.

Sipping her coffee, she waited to meet with Robert Gautier, the man who had worked for Henri Benoit and helped her "liberate" the thumb drives with the money laundering books from the safe in Benoit's house months ago. As soon as she found out the family would be coming to Paris on the Buy More tour, she knew she had to meet with him. In addition to trying to obtain as much information as she could about where Benoit might be hiding, she also wanted to see if he knew anything at all about Frost and Orion. He had agreed to meet with her before work that morning. At the time she made the appointment, she had no idea things were to be so eventful the night before.

Scanning faces as people walked by, Sarah thought back over their first week in Europe. She felt pretty good about their accomplishments so far. In addition to helping her MI-6 friend Harry Chalmers capture a Fulcrum agent and a Greek terrorist in London, she had got him to promise to keep his eyes and ears open for anything on Benoit, Frost and Orion. The op with Ilsa informed them that Benoit was still involved—if not directly, at least indirectly—with his illegal activities. Hopefully this meeting with Gautier would give her a little more intel. With some patience and perseverance, she hoped to cobble these bits of information together and eventually figure out where Benoit was.

She stood when she saw Gautier hurry toward her table. He grasped her outstretched hand and shook it. "Mademoiselle Irving! It's so wonderful to see you again." He smiled apologetically and said as they sat down, "I'm so sorry I'm late. Mondays."

"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling graciously. "It was a struggle for me to get going this morning, too. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"It is my pleasure. I was pleased to hear you were returning to Paris. Are you here on business?"

She nodded. Since they were meeting in public, they needed to be careful. "Yes. Actually, my primary task is to locate the whereabouts of a mutual acquaintance of ours."

Guarded, he replied, "I'm not sure if I can be of any assistance. I haven't had any contact with him since the dissolution of his business. I have a new position at a new firm and am very happy there. I don't want to do or say anything that might jeopardize that." He swallowed nervously and dropped his voice. "The man has connections and influence everywhere."

"I understand," she replied. "The sooner we can find him, the better it will be for everyone."

"Yes, that is true. I'll do what I can to help."

"We appreciate what you have done already. And I'm not here to ask you to do anything other than hopefully answer a couple of questions I have."

"I'll do my best."

"We've been watching the homes he owns, but so far, there's been no activity at any of them. Can you think of any associates of his he might be staying with?"

"He trusts very few people." Gautier sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. "Other than his closest associates, those who left with him, no. I assume you have looked into them as well?"

"Yes. Their homes are currently unoccupied as well," she said carefully.

He gazed into the distance, thinking hard. "Oh!" he exclaimed, sitting up straighter. "I believe there are, or at least were, a number of shell corporations that owned real estate around the world. It's not an uncommon practice, especially if the properties are commercial. I'm surprised they weren't included in the documentation from before."

"They might have been," she answered, thinking back to the spreadsheets she and Chuck had looked at once he had broken the encryption. "Perhaps they were abbreviated and our analysts wouldn't have known what the codes stood for. Do you remember any of the names of these corporations?"

His eyes lost focus again as he obviously tried to recall them. Sighing, he said, "I can only think of one. As you know, I was in charge of finding new, legitimate companies to invest in. I wasn't privy to all the bookkeeping."

"Of course. I understand." She dug through her purse and found the notepad she always carried. Flipping through the pages, she passed the stick figures of Spy Barbie and GI Joe drawn by Megan and a pretty fair rendering of the Millennium Falcon done by none other than her husband. She found an empty page and a pen and slid them across the table. "If you could write down the name of the corporation you do remember, that would be a huge help to us. I'm sure it will open up a whole new avenue for us to investigate."

"Yes, of course," he said, slipping on his reading glasses. He carefully wrote the words, "El Dorado Holding."

"Huh. El Dorado. The legendary 'Lost City of Gold,'" she mused. The analysts would have a field day with that little bit of information. He handed the pad and pen back to her and she returned them to her purse.

"I'm sorry I'm not of more assistance," he said.

"Please, don't apologize. Without you, we wouldn't have even been able to begin this venture," she assured him.

He smiled at the comment. Glancing at his watch, he said, "If there is nothing else, I should be getting to work."

"Just one more question. During our examination of the information, we ran across a couple of names we need to follow up on. Do you recognize the names 'Frost' or 'Orion'?" From the way his eyebrows pulled together and his slight frown, she knew immediately that he had never heard the names before.

"I'm sorry," he replied, shaking his head slowly, "but those names are unfamiliar to me. Should I know them?"

"Not necessarily, no." She held in a sigh of disappointment. "I just thought I would ask in case you did. Don't worry about it. You've been a great help today."

His face brightened and he stood. "Wonderful. I'm glad to be of service." Extending his hand, he said, "Good luck in all your business endeavors."

Shaking his hand, she said warmly, "_Merci_. Good luck to you as well. _Au revoir_."

"_Au revoir_." He turned and hurried down the street.

She sat down long enough to drain her coffee and pick up her purse. Then she headed back into the pâtisserie to buy breakfast for the family. There was a _pain au chocolat_ with Chuck's name on it.

~ O ~

When Sarah returned to the hotel after her meeting with Gautier, the kids stopped filling their suitcases and descended on her like a pack of starving wolves. She set the bags of pastries on the bed and stepped back, getting out of the way as her ravenous nieces and nephews pounced.

"I guess they're hungry," Sarah deadpanned to her husband standing next to her.

"Like dumping chum in the water." Eyeing the kids warily as they grabbed the goodies and began to devour them, he said, "Since I don't want to lose a limb to those piranha, I'll eat something at the train station," Chuck sighed.

Her eyes twinkled. "That's too bad. I guess I'll have to eat this myself, then," she said, showing him the small bag she'd been hiding behind her back.

He snatched the bag and clutched it to his chest. "For me?"

She nodded.

"Is it what I think it is?"

"Maybe."

A grin exploded on his face when he opened the bag and peered inside. "You take such good care of me, Mrs. Bartowski," he said, kissing her cheek. Waggling an eyebrow at her, he asked, "Should I eat it now or save it for _later_?"

She stood on her tiptoes and breathed in his ear, "Eat it now. You need to keep your strength up in case there's any _later_, later."

His eyes glazed and his jaw went slack. "Uhhhhhh," was the only sound he made as the bag slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor at his feet. Chuckling, she picked it up and pulled out the _pain au chocolat_. Standing in front of him, she held it up to his mouth. "Open."

The aroma of the roll under his nose stirred him from his stupor and he obediently took a bite. Chewing slowly, the gleam in his eyes made her breath hitch. As if hypnotized, she slowly moved the pastry to her lips and bit into it.

"Carb-loading?" he asked, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

The pastry bobbed up and down as she nodded.

"Hope springs eternal?"

An eyebrow bounced once as she smiled around the roll and continued to nod.

His eyes dropped to the bread still in her mouth. A tingle shot up her spine when he leaned forward like he was about to bite into the other end of it.

"Ah, geez," Lizzie said, glancing over at them and then rolling her eyes. "They're about to go all _Lady and the Tramp_ over there."

"That used to be my favorite movie," Bridget sighed as she brushed powdered sugar from her face. "I loved that scene with the spaghetti noodle."

Now that everyone's attention was on them, Chuck winked and kept coming toward her. But instead of taking a bite from the _pain au chocolat_, he moved around it at the last second and kissed her cheek.

"_Later_," he mouthed silently. She finally finished taking her bite and handed the bun back to him.

"Aunt Sarah, Uncle Chuck wouldn't tell us anything about what happened last night until you got back," Fred said before peeling off a long strip of _pain aux raisins_ and stuffing it in his mouth. "What happened?" he asked around the food in his mouth, a raisin dropping from his lip onto the floor.

"You're a troll," Lisa said, wadding up a paper napkin and throwing it at him. He dodged it and grinned at his sister in response. Chuckling, she shook her head.

Before Chuck and Sarah had left for the mission the night before, they'd told the kids in general terms what they were doing. There was really no point in hedging the truth with them. They were too smart and would have figured it out anyway, especially with Casey going with them. However, not wanting to give them more information than they wanted—or needed for that matter—she now decided to start off vague. "Overall, it was a successful mission," she answered. "We got what we were sent to retrieve and caught some bad guys."

"You mean Uncle Casey and that French lady caught them. You guys sat in the van the whole time," Fred pointed out.

Chuck and Sarah shared small smiles.

"Wait! You _did_ leave the van?" Lizzie asked.

"No, I promised I would stay in the van and I did," Chuck replied.

"Aw, that's lame," Fred scoffed.

He looked to Sarah and she gave him a small nod of approval. "I still caught a bad guy, though."

"How did you do that if you stayed in the van?" Bridget asked.

"A bad guy came to me."

"He got in the van?" Megan eyes grew wide. "Did you shoot him?"

"Sort of. I shot him with a tranq dart."

"Whoa!" came the response. They looked at him with a mixture of surprise, awe and admiration.

"Were you scared?" Bridget asked.

"Was I scared?" he said heroically. With a sheepish grin, he answered, "You bet I was scared."

Snickers rolled through the room.

"Wait a minute," Lisa said. "Why didn't _you_ shoot him, Aunt Sarah?"

"They never said _she_ didn't leave the van," Martie observed.

All eyes were suddenly on her. "I thought you were going to stay with Uncle Chuck," Bridget said.

"I did, until the end." Her voice took on a serious tone. "One of the bad guys from inside the embassy was getting away with the thing we were tasked to secure in the first place. Uncle Casey was too far away and wouldn't have gotten to him in time. I was the only one who could stop him. I had to go. Trust me. It wasn't easy to leave him there," she said, slipping an arm around his waist. "But your uncle is a pretty resourceful guy. He told me he'd be okay and he was."

"So you chased the baddie?" Megan asked. Hanging on every word being said, the little girl literally wiggled with excitement.

"Mm-hmm."

"Aw, come on! Details!" Curtis complained when she didn't immediately elaborate.

Sarah knew her answer would probably launch Megan into orbit, as well as the other kids for that matter. The bored voice she feigned didn't match the twinkle in her eyes. "He was getting away in a car, so I chased him on a motorcycle."

Those who were eating stopped mid-chew. Morgan's clipboard slipped off his lap and bounced on the carpet. The air was charged, like a bolt of lightning was about to crack. It was nearly that loud when kids started shouting over each other all at once.

"That's awesome!"

"Aunt Sarah, you're _so cool_!"

"Where did you get a motorcycle?"

"Did you catch him?"

"I wanna ride a motorcycle!"

"What kind was it?"

"Can we get one?"

Waving her hands, she laughed and called out over their excited voices, "Wait! Hang on! I think I heard some questions in there, so I'll answer what I heard. I 'borrowed' the motorcycle from a guy." A wave of murmurs rolled through the room. "It was a Ducati," she said, looking directly at Fred since she knew he was the one who had asked that question.

"Ooooooo. Nice," Fred said under his breath.

"Monster? Diavel?" Lisa asked.

Surprised, Sarah answered, "Multistrada. How do you know about Ducatis?"

"My friend from school, her dad has one. He brings her to school on it sometimes." Her niece gave her a hard stare. "I hope you wore a skull bucket."

After a moment of confusion, she smiled affectionately at Lisa and said, "Yes, I wore a _skull bucket_. It had a dragon on it."

Lisa smiled and nodded her approval.

"And before you ask, yes, I already gave it back. I checked with the police earlier and the owner picked it up." They all groaned in disappointment.

"Look on the bright side," Chuck said to the kids. "Now I know what to get your aunt for Christmas." Their reaction was loud and immediate and enthusiastic. As the kids yelled excitedly over each other, Chuck pressed his lips to her ear, "You're the coolest aunt _ever_!"

"You're a pretty cool uncle yourself, taking that guy out with your tranq gun, Agent Carmichael."

"I appreciate the shout out, Agent Walker, but nothing beats _you_ on a _motorcycle_."

She felt her cheeks pink at his compliment.

Once the noise level dropped, Curtis said, "So you caught the guy you were chasing?"

Frowning, Sarah answered, "No, not exactly. I got the important briefcase from him but then he jumped into the Seine before I could arrest him."

"He got away?" Megan asked quietly, her face crestfallen.

Sarah didn't like seeing the disappointment on her youngest's face. Before she could answer, Fred spoke up. "He jumped in the river, squirt. He's probably fish food by now. Or maybe he's all bloated and floating—"

At Martie's and Megan's widened eyes, Chuck jumped in, "Dude. Not awesome." Dipping his head toward the littlest ones, Chuck shot him a pointed look.

"Sorry," Fred mouthed, chagrined.

"Anyway," Sarah said, hoping to get the conversation back on track, "while I was out chasing down the man with the briefcase, one of the Generalissimo's men found Uncle Chuck and the van. By the time I got back with the briefcase, your uncle had tranquilized the guy and tied him up," she finished, smiling proudly at her husband.

"Way to go, Uncle Chuck!"

"You rock, dude!"

"Watch out, James Bond!"

Grinning, he made a small bow. "I gotta admit it was pretty exciting. Maybe I'll be able to talk your aunt into letting me go on another mission again sometime," he said hopefully, his eyes shining with as much excitement as the kids'.

"We'll see," she said with a single raised eyebrow.

"Where's Uncle Casey?" Martie asked, looking around the room.

"He's going to meet us at the train station," Chuck said.

"He left without us?" she said with a frown.

"I bet he's seeing the French lady again," Curtis exclaimed. "The one that came by our room looking for him the other night. She was really pretty, wasn't she Uncle Morgan?" Martie's frown deepened.

Morgan looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Um, yeah. I have no opinion on that," he mumbled nervously. "Other than Sarah and the girls, I'm not allowed to—and I quote—'talk to or about any person of the female persuasion that Major John Casey has known in the past, now knows in the present or might know in the future.'"

"Good luck with that, Uncle Morgan," Lizzie snickered.

"Okay, now that our verbal report of the mission is complete, we need to finish getting packed," Chuck said, glancing at his watch. "Everyone needs to be ready to leave in thirty minutes. Let's go!"

~ O ~

"Is that her?" Lizzie asked in a low voice, sneaking a peek over her shoulder to where Casey and Ilsa stood down the train platform from them.

"Yeah, that's her," Fred said, twisting around and rubbing the back of his neck, trying not to look like he was staring.

"Oooo-la-la," Lisa said in low voice, prompting snickers from all her siblings, save Martie.

"She's really pretty," Bridget breathed in awe, peering past her oldest brother. "She could be a model."

"I don't think she's very pretty," Martie said, crossing her arms and scowling.

Sarah looked down at Megan's upturned face when the little one tugged at her hand. "Is the French lady coming with us?" she asked. "Are Uncle Casey and her gonna get married?"

"No, sweetie," Sarah answered, squeezing her hand. "She's already married to somebody else. They're just friends." At that intel, the deep frown on Martie's face lessened.

"I didn't know Uncle Casey had any friends," Curtis said.

"Of course he has friends, you dope," Fred said, giving his brother a small shove. "He has us."

Lisa shook her head. "We're not his friends. We're his family."

~ O ~

Casey's eyes darted around the train platform as if looking for an escape route. He was extremely uncomfortable with the current predicament he was in. All he wanted to do was simply say good-bye to Ilsa, get on the train and be gone. She wouldn't hear of it, though, so now here he was, continuing the uncomfortable small talk they'd been engaged in since they met for breakfast that morning. As the time grew nearer for him to board the train, he felt himself growing more and more antsy. He really just wanted to get this over with.

Of course, Walker, Bartowski and the kids gawking at Ilsa and him didn't help matters either. If Walker was trying to keep Ilsa from noticing her and the family, she wasn't doing a very good job of it. He literally had to stop himself from shaking his head when he realized how wrong he was. As protective as Walker was of Chuck and the kids, if Sarah didn't want Ilsa to see them, she wouldn't. Sarah allowed her to see them.

"I see what you mean, John. You really can tell they're married just by looking at those two," Ilsa stated, turning a little toward the tightly clustered group down the platform from them. "I noticed Agent Walker's wedding rings the first night we met in the bar. Once I saw her and Agent Carmichael together, I knew who she was married to, even if they tried to hide it."

Casey did his best to feign ignorance. That was Walker's deal. He wasn't going to say anything about it one way or the other.

"Nice try, John," Ilsa chuckled. Staring into his face, she said, "There's a spark between them that can't be hidden, no matter how hard they try. Is that bunch of kids with them theirs?"

He held her gaze and remained silent.

"I'm sure you have your reasons for such stoicism, but the fact that you, Major John Casey, are even traveling with all those kids simply amazes me. They must be pretty special. I'd love to know what this mission is you're on." Her eyes searched his face. "But I guess I'll never know." She heaved a sigh. "I seem to be carrying on an extremely one-sided conversation, here, John. Can you help me out?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"How about we finally take on the elephant in the room. I know you are angry with me for what happened in Casablanca and how it ended. I don't blame you. I've carried the burden of what I did with me all this time." Her eyes glistened. "You weren't the only one I betrayed, even if it was unintentional. My husband has forgiven me. I hope you can find it in your heart to do the same."

_Aw, crap_. The muscles in his jaw tightened. His stared over her head and out one of the large arched windows in the wall of the station. "Yeah. I forgive you. I understand now. You did the right thing."

"Thank you," she said in a small voice.

Finally dropping his gaze to her face, he shrugged and said, "When you left me at the airport, you wrecked everything we had. But now I get it. It doesn't sting as much, knowing that you left to honor your commitment."

She sighed and said quietly, "There's a small part of me that wants to go with you, John, to get that connection we had back."

His eyes flashed. "I won't have any part of busting up a marriage, Ilsa. Besides, we both have things we have to do. You have your work here in France and with Victor and whatever happens in Costa Gravas. I have a job to do, too. My country comes first." He waited a beat and then added, "Well, my country and my guns."

"Your country is lucky to have you." Ilsa smiled and swiped at the tear on her cheek. "And now we'll always have Casablanca. John, I hope—" An announcement boomed over the loudspeaker, advising the passengers to Amsterdam that the train was ready for boarding. Chuck, Sarah and crew, suitcases in tow, filed past them. The older kids tried to be discreet as they snuck peeks at Ilsa as they walked past. The younger ones stared openly at her. Morgan scrupulously kept his eyes fixed to the ground in front of him.

Sarah, still holding Megan's hand, stopped and said, "Good-bye, Ilsa and good luck."

Ilsa stepped forward and gave Sarah a quick hug. "Thank you. For everything. Good luck to you, too."

Megan slipped her other hand into Casey's and gazed up at him. "Are you coming, Uncle Casey?"

"Yeah, squirt. In a minute." He wiggled the hand that held hers a couple of times, making her arm waggle from wrist to shoulder. She giggled and grinned up at him.

"Come on, sweetie," Sarah said, gently pulling Megan along. Both he and Ilsa watched the two disappear through the door and onto the train.

Ilsa's attention returned to him. "I was going to say that I hope you find someone to love and who loves you back." She turned and looked at the door the Bartowski/Woodcomb clan had just passed through. "But I think you already have."

He followed her gaze. Through the windows, he could see figures moving about the cabin as they stashed their luggage and found places to sit. "Yeah." He picked up his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Good-bye, Ilsa."

She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Good-bye, John."

He nodded once, turned on his heel and strode down the platform. Never looking back, he boarded the train and stashed his bag. As he started his walk down the aisle to find an empty seat, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. "Let's get out of here," he grumbled as he approached where Chuck and Sarah sat. He nodded at Martie when he saw her face light up from her seat behind Chuck.

"Had enough of Paris?" Chuck asked.

"Yeah."

"Here's hoping things are a little more laid-back in Amsterdam," Sarah said.

He sank down in an empty seat next to Martie and behind Sarah. Rubbing his hands over his face, he said, "It sure can't get any crazier."


	23. Getting to Know You

**A/N: **Okay, so Paris is behind us and we're moving on to Amsterdam. I want to thank **Aerox**, my consultant on all things Dutch, for sharing with me his knowledge of this wonderfully charming city and its culture.

As always, thank you to my fabulous beta, **AgentInWaiting**, the hardest working man in show business. Wait…that was James Brown. Anyway, thanks, **AIW**!

Finally, thank you for reading and for the kind words, comments, and reviews. I'm always pleased and excited to hear from you. You all are aces.

**Chapter 23 – Getting to Know You **

The sound of voices slowly tugged Sarah to consciousness. It took her a minute to remember she was on a train to Amsterdam. It took her another minute to realize she'd been asleep with her mouth hanging open. When she closed it, her tongue immediately glued itself to the roof of her mouth. She managed to unstick it and moved it around to get some moisture going. Lifting her head from her husband's shoulder, she rasped, "Oh god, Chuck. Did I snore?" She took a deep breath in through her nose and opened her eyes. When she realized they were drier than her mouth, she squeezed them shut again.

"Snore? Technically, no. It was more of a heavy breathing kind of thing. Not that I minded, of course. Here."

She squinted through her lashes and saw the bottle of water he offered her. "Mmmm. Thanks." Lifting it from his hand, she tipped it back and drained it. The cool water felt heavenly as it coated her parched throat. She took in another deep breath. Now, if she could just get some moisture to her eyes. They felt gritty, like someone had rolled her eyeballs in sand and then stuck them back into their sockets. She blinked several times and looked at Chuck from under heavy lids.

"Four hours not enough sleep for you last night?" he asked.

Not trusting that her voice wouldn't still rasp, she cleared her throat. Shaking her head, she said, "Not just last night. I was up late with Casey and Ilsa the night before, and we were all at the Eiffel Tower the night before that. It's finally caught up to me."

"Hopefully Amsterdam will be more relaxing."

"Uh-huh," she said wryly. Arching her back, she raised her arms over her head, yawned and stretched. "How long was I out?" She looked past him and out the window. Trees and shrubs on berms next to the tracks flashed past. When the banks dropped away, green and yellow fields of crops planted in long rows stretched to the horizon.

"About an hour. The train was barely out of the station and you were already asleep." He sat up straighter and twisted in his seat, stretching his back. A happy noise came out of him when she ran the heel of her hand up one side of his spine and then the other.

"It's the least I can do for making you sit still for so long while I used you for a pillow."

"Well, that and the fact that I stopped the boys from taking pictures of you asleep with your mouth open and posting them on the Internet."

Her hand stilled. "They wouldn't."

"They wanted to," he chuckled.

She returned to rubbing up and down his back. "How did you talk them out of it?"

"I reminded them that they should always be respectful of their aunt."

A snort escaped. "And what did you do when _that_ didn't work?" She slipped her hand under his shirt and gently raked her nails all over his back. Groaning in bliss, he hunched his shoulders and rotated them a few inches one way and then the other to give her better access.

"I mentioned that you—ahhhh, right there," she concentrated her scratching to just below his right shoulder blade, "are a spy who should always be considered armed and dangerous."

"And that worked?" she asked with a laugh. Keeping her hand under his shirt, she stopped scratching and lightly trailed her fingertips back and forth across his skin.

"It did. Well, that and a reminder of what you did after they added black hair dye to your shampoo on April Fools. You know, they still won't open the fridge without someone else being in the kitchen."

She let out a small snicker and then suddenly her hand stilled again. "Wait a minute. I slept through this whole thing."

"Yeah, so?"

She took her hand from under his shirt and sat up straighter. "Chuck, in my line of work, I should wake up at the slightest sound and be ready for anything at all times. I shouldn't be so out of it that you and the boys can carry on a conversation and I sleep right through it."

He took her hand in both of his. "Give yourself a break." Her dubious stare didn't deter him. "First of all, there was a lot of mouthing, head shaking, glaring and whispering. If they woke you, their photo op would have been over."

Somewhat mollified, she remained quiet.

"Secondly, you're literally exhausted. Like you said, you've had one decent night's sleep since we left home. Thirdly, I know you. Even as tired as you are, if it was just you, me and the kids on this train, there's no way you would've fallen asleep."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You allowed yourself to sleep because you knew that Casey's right behind you and that Vegas and Barstow are just a few rows back from us. You knew it was safe."

Her shoulders relaxed and she leaned back in her seat. After mulling his words, she knew he was right. Smirking, she said, "You think you're pretty smart, don't you, Mr. Bartowski?"

"I know I am," he answered with a quick smile. "I was smart enough to ask you to marry me."

"Yeah, that was pretty smart of you," she said, leaning over and kissing him.

A throat being cleared interrupted their kiss. Looking past her, Chuck grumbled, "Really Morgan? Right now?"

"I'm sorry. I can come back later," Morgan said.

"No, it's okay, Morgan," Sarah said, reaching down to grab her bag. "I'll move so you can sit and talk to Chuck."

Morgan shifted from one foot to the other. "Um, actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you, Sarah."

Still leaning forward, she looked over her shoulder at him. "You want to talk to me?"

"Yeah, you know," he said, bobbing his head back and forth, "you're Chuck's wife, I'm his best friend. We didn't really have a chance to talk last fall with me being busy with the wedding and you… doing what you were doing. We should really get to know each other better."

Sitting back, she smiled up at him. "You're right, Morgan." Turning to Chuck, she winked and asked, "That okay with you, sweetie?"

"Yep. I would like nothing better than for my wife and my best friend to bond," he said, obviously amused by the whole thing. He reached down and grabbed his computer bag.

Sarah stood and stepped into the aisle so Chuck could scoot by. She watched him make his way down the car and take the seat next to Curtis where Morgan had been sitting. Sarah moved to the Chuck's abandoned seat next to the window and sat down. Morgan flopped into the seat next to her and slapped his hands on his thighs. "So…" he said, his eyes pinned to the seatback in front of him.

"So…" she echoed, fingering the charms on her bracelet. They sat in an uncomfortable silence.

"So, yeah," Morgan started again. "You and Chuck. Married." He blew out a breath like he was still amazed by the idea.

"Mm-hmm. Eight months now," she replied. Studying him, she could see he was nervous. "What do you want to talk about?"

Shifting his weight onto one hip, he reached around and pulled out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. He carefully opened it up and smoothed it out on his thigh. His scrawled handwriting covered it from top to bottom. He'd apparently been adding to it at different times since the color and type of pen he used changed, sometimes from one word to the next.

"Okay, so we both love Chuck." At her raised eyebrows, he shook his head and babbled, "No, that didn't come out right. Like a brother! I love Chuck like a brother! And well, you don't. Love him like a brother, I mean. 'Cause if you did, then, wow, the way you two are together—that would be really—"

"Morgan."

"I mean I know you love him, too." He swiped his forearm across his brow. "Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here to me."

"Morgan, it's fine. I get it. You love Chuck like a brother. I love him as my husband." Glancing down at the paper in his lap, she asked, "What do you have there?"

"Like I said, I'd like to get to know you better. I've been making a list of questions that I think will do that."

"That looks like a lot," she said. "You've written on the front and back? How many are there?"

He gulped and mumbled, "About fifty."

"Fifty!"

"A lot of them are really easy," he said defensively.

"I'll answer ten," she replied.

"Aw, come on Sarah. You've got to give me more than that." He ran his hand gently over the paper again. "Twenty."

"Five."

His eyes widened. "Fine. Ten."

"Agreed. Ten total. If you ask one that's too personal, I won't answer." The look on her face told him that was non-negotiable.

"But I still get to ask ten questions total?"

"Yes. And then I get to ask you anything I want about either you or Chuck."

"Anything?" He peered at her side-eyed. She stared back at him.

His shoulders slumped. "Okay, but if Chuck gets mad at me for something I answer about him, it's not my fault." He stuck his hand out for her to shake. "Deal?"

She flashed him a grin and shook his hand. "Deal. Ready when you are."

He ran a finger over the paper, flipped it over and scanned the other side. Turning over to the first page again, he looked at her and said solemnly, "If you were stranded on a desert island, what kind of sandwich would you take?"

She was somehow able to turn her snort into a throat clearing. After a moment's consideration, and ignoring Casey's groan from the row behind them and way he forcefully turned the page of his most recent issue of _Guns and Ammo_, she said, "My first thought is to bring my favorite, roast beef. But sandwiches with meats or cold cuts usually include mayonnaise, which wouldn't fare well in the tropics. Food safety outweighs flavor here, so I'd have to go with peanut butter and jelly."

"Interesting," he said. Taking a pen from his pocket, he clicked the end with his thumb and scribbled a note. He then ran his finger down the page again, considering his next question.

"If you had to choose between buying a DeLorean or the General Lee, which one would it be?"

Since she didn't know what the General Lee was—she was assuming he wasn't talking about the actual Civil War general—she figured she would be safe saying a DeLorean. Plus, she recalled that car played an important part in that time travel movie she watched with Chuck and the kids one Friday night. "DeLorean," she stated.

"Mm-hmm. Why?" he asked, clicking his pen.

"It's better for time travel," she replied without hesitation, her lips twitching when his eyes widened at her answer.

He stared at her, speechless.

"Morgan? That's only two questions." This was turning out to be a lot more fun than she thought it was going to be. It was like taking a nerd oral exam and so far, she was passing. She was actually surprised at—and rather proud of—the amount of nerd information she'd absorbed in the past year.

Morgan roused himself and consulted his list again, mumbling to himself. His face lit up when he eyed a question. Clearing his throat officiously, he asked, "Jar Jar Binks: worst character in any movie ever, or just in the Star Wars universe?"

Laughter fluttered in her chest, but she somehow managed to fight it back. Poker face firmly in place, she answered, "We don't discuss Jar Jar Binks in the Bartowski/Woodcomb household."

Morgan nodded sagely. "For the sake of the children."

She bit her lower lip and returned his nod, not trusting herself to speak.

This time he didn't even look at his paper. "Avengers or Justice League?"

_Oh boy_. She knew he was referring to comic book characters, but that was the extent of her knowledge. Comic books were something she simply couldn't understand the allure of. Chuck was the one who kept the kids and himself well stocked with comics. She did, however, have an excellent memory and pictured in her mind the pile of comic books stacked on the nightstand on Chuck's side of their bed at home. "Justice League."

Squinting, he gave her a hard stare. She held his gaze. Suddenly, a smile overtook his face. "That was a trick question. You just can't go wrong with either."

She blew out a breath. "Sneaky, Morgan," she chuckled.

His smile grew and he scratched his beard. "How many was that?"

"Four."

He nodded and perused his paper. "What's the most dangerous mission you've ever been on?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

His chuckle stopped abruptly when he glanced up at her. Blanching, he said, "You're kidding, right? You wouldn't…"

Her face remained expressionless, other than the eyebrow that slowly rose.

He relaxed and expelled a nervous laugh. "Nah, you wouldn't," he said more to himself than to her as he drew a line through that question and the three following on the list. "Ah, I've got one!" he exclaimed. "On the bottom or on top?"

Sarah gave him an icy glare.

"I meant cheese on a pizza! Cheese on a pizza!"

"A little context would be nice, Morgan."

"Well, yeah, but you said only ten questions so I had to skip the lead up ones like favorite toppings, thin or thick crust, mozzarella or a four-cheese base. I had a whole bunch just on this. Understand how a person likes their pizza and you understand their soul!"

Her glare thawed. "I had no idea. In that case," she said, lowering her voice and leaning a fraction closer to him, "I like it on top."

He gulped and tiny beads of sweat erupted on his forehead. "Man! Why is it so hot in here?" he complained as he dragged his arm across his brow again. "Music," he murmured to himself. "That should be safe, I think." Warily, he asked, "What's your favorite band?"

Her brow furrowed. "I don't really have one."

"Really? How can you not have a favorite band?"

She shrugged. "Music hasn't been at the top of my list."

It was his turn to stare at her.

"Fine," she said lightly. Holding up her left hand, she said, "My favorite band in my wedding band." She laughed when he groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Sarah, that's terrible," he said with a grin.

"Thank you," she said, dipping her head. "And you have three more questions."

He took a deep breath and blew it out. His face determined, he turned the paper over and over searching for the perfect questions. Finally, he shook his head, folded up it up and stuck it back in his pocket. Without guile, he asked, "What was the moment when you first realized you were in love with Chuck?"

At first, she was taken aback by the depth and sincerity of his question. Then she smiled shyly and stared down at the rings on her finger. "It was the first time I saw him text the kids on his iPhone. It was for them to come meet me for the first time. I'd only spoken with him for a few minutes and I already knew he was smart and funny and devoted and hardworking and handsome and adorable…" Looking Morgan straight in the eyes, she said, "I'd only known him for fifteen minutes and I was already a goner."

Casey snorted. Still looking at his magazine, he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, "I'm just here to protect the asset. I'm just here to protect the asset."

She smirked and said, "Ignore him."

Morgan made a face like he wasn't sure that was a good idea. Then he grinned and for the first time since they had begun their "bonding" session, she saw that he was relaxed. "Chuck wasn't any different," he said. "I knew he was crazy about you the first time he mentioned you when we saw each other in Denver, which was about thirty seconds after we'd said hello."

"Really?" She never knew she'd been a topic of discussion when the two best friends—both in Denver at the same time for work related meetings—had met up.

"Oh, yeah! He couldn't stop talking about you. He kept saying how you were smart and funny and beautiful and great with the kids. And I remember thinking, 'Well, that's good since she's their nanny and all.' But, man, Sarah," he said, pantomiming shooting a bow and arrow, "Cupid shot him in the butt with an arrow the size of a missile."

A warm feeling suffused through her. It surprised her how much it meant to hear this from her husband's best friend.

"Speaking of kids, and if this is too personal you can call a 'pass' on it," Morgan started, "but have you and Chuck talked about having a baby? 'Cause, you know, I'm always up for being an uncle to another munchkin."

Unlike the time at the Rusty Spittoon when Carina brought up that subject—in her oh so Carina-like way—Sarah didn't feel defensive now. Shrugging a shoulder, she fingered the charms on her bracelet again and said, "We'd just started to talk about starting to talk about it when Curtis fell and hit his head at the pâtisserie. And then with everything else that happened after that, we haven't had a chance to go back to it."

"Trust me, Sarah. I think I know what his take on the subject is."

Her face flushed red with heat. Flapping the front of her shirt just under her collar, she said, "You're right, Morgan. It is getting a little warm in here." She could have really used a drink of water.

"I know, right?" he exclaimed, running his fingertips across his brow. Shifting in he seat, he said, "Okay, my last question. Do you have a sister who, you know, might like nerds, too?"

"I'm sorry, Morgan," she laughed. "I don't have a sister."

He grinned back and wafted his palms. "You can't blame a guy for trying."

"All right, my turn." Unexpectedly filled with anticipation, Sarah sat up straighter. At the suddenly stricken look on his face, she reassured him, "Don't worry, Morgan. I don't think my questions will be too bad. And I only have a few."

He blew out a breath in relief. "Okay. Shoot." He clapped his hand over his mouth.

"I won't have to if you answer my questions," she teased. When his eyes grew to the size of saucers, she added with a snicker, "I'm kidding."

Dropping his hand back to his lap, he said, "Whew. Good."

She still couldn't believe how much fun this had turned out to be or that now she was brimming with excitement. "Tell me your favorite memory of when you and Chuck were kids."

"Oh, wow, Sarah. There are so many." He slumped against the back of his seat. Tapping his finger against his lips, he sat deep in thought. Suddenly, his eyes gleamed with inspiration. "He probably won't like me telling you this one, but that's too bad," he mumbled to himself. He leaned forward and started conspiratorially, "Chuck and I were about seven years old, which meant Ellie was about twelve and his parents hadn't… you know. Anyway, I was over at their house after school one day. Now that I think about it, I was over at their house every day. I kind of had a huge crush on Ellie. Oh my god, Sarah, she was like Princess Leia and I—"

"Morgan."

"Right. That's a story for another time. Anyhoo, Ellie had a friend over at their house that day, too. Her friend had come over to get Ellie's help making a costume for this history day pageant thing her sibling was in at school. They needed someone to try the costume on for fitting. Well, since Ellie was involved, I of course, immediately volunteered, but was the wrong size. It turned out Chuck was the right size. Well, he didn't want anything to do with it. Ellie told him that the costume was of a famous patriot from the American Revolution, which helped a little but not enough to make want him do it. Finally, she tried bribing him by saying she would beg their parents to buy him a Chewbacca action figure if he did this for her."

Sarah hung on Morgan's every word. "Did he agree?"

"Yup. Chuck would have done _anything_ for a Chewie action figure. And it was of a famous patriot, right? We were thinking, George Washington, Paul Revere, somebody really cool."

She felt herself suddenly grinning with anticipation. "Who was it?"

Morgan's blue eyes twinkled with glee. "Betsy Ross."

"No!" she exclaimed, laughing.

"The one and only," Morgan said proudly. "Complete with long dress, hat, apron and flag."

That only made her laugh harder. Her eyes flooded and she swiped her fingers under them to wipe away the tears. "Morgan, what are you telling my wife?" she heard Chuck call out.

"All good stuff buddy," Morgan called back. "Nothing to worry about."

"Oh, I would have loved to have seen that," Sarah said when she finally caught her breath.

"Oh, you can! I can't believe Lizzie's never shown it to you."

"Shown me what? There's a picture?" She'd been through the family's photo albums numerous times and had never seen it.

Morgan's head bobbed enthusiastically. "Chuck's mom took it. It's of the four of us kids." He leaned over and asked Lizzie who sat across the aisle from him, "Do you still have that picture of," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "Betsy Ross?"

Sarah peeked around Morgan in time to see her niece's eyes flash. "Of course. The original's at home but I carry a photocopy in my wallet." As she fished her wallet from her purse and pulled a paper from it, she said quietly, "It's my favorite picture of when Mom was young. I just love her smile. And Uncle Chuck makes for a surprisingly attractive Betsy Ross." After carefully unfolding the paper, she handed it across the aisle.

The photo was better than Sarah even imagined. Ellie and her friend had huge grins on their faces standing on either side of Chuck, Morgan stared up at Ellie in open love and devotion and Chuck looked completely miserable as a slightly masculine looking Betsy Ross.

Sarah traced a finger across the image of first Chuck then Ellie. It was times like these when she especially felt Ellie's loss and mourned that fact that she'd never have the chance to know her late and much beloved sister-in-law. Thankfully, there were many stories to be shared and she was so happy to have heard this one. Grinning, she handed the paper to Morgan who passed it back to Lizzie and said to her niece, "I'm going to want a copy of that for myself."

Lizzie nodded and laughed. "Will do."

Sarah's attention snapped back to Morgan. "Wait a minute! Chuck has a Chewie in his office. Is that the one Ellie got his parents to get it for him?"

"Yup! I'm not that surprised he didn't tell you how he got it."

"I'm not either." She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was fair to ask the next question. But she maybe would never get another opportunity like this one and Chuck did want them to bond… "Did Chuck ever have any crushes on his teachers?"

"Oh, yeah! There were minor ones here and there, but the biggest one was on the elementary school librarian, Miss Ferguson."

"The school librarian?" she repeated in surprise.

Morgan's eyes lost focus and he gazed out the window behind her. "She was hot. She would stand on a stool to put books away and she'd wear these really tight skirts and…" He stopped talking and stared with a vacant look in his eyes. After a minute or so, he came back to the present, shook his head a little and looked back to Sarah. "It was her first job out of school, so she was young, at least younger than most of the teachers. She tried to do the 'librarian' thing, though, and always wore her hair in a bun and these rectangular white-rimmed glasses. One day after school Chuck and I had to stop by the library to return his overdue book. Just as we walked in, Miss Ferguson decided to let her hair down for the day. For real. It was like magic, Sarah. She pulled out these two pins from the bun and all this long, brown hair tumbled down her back. When she ran her fingers through it a couple of times and shook it out? I thought Chuck was going to fall dead to the floor."

"Aw, poor Chuck," Sarah murmured with amusement. "What happened? I hope there's more to this story."

Morgan shifted in his seat and nodded. "Her back was to the door and she didn't notice us. She turned around when she heard Chuck make this funny gurgling noise. I swear he _completely_ stopped breathing when she pushed the glasses to the top of her head, smiled at us and said, 'Hi, boys. What can I do for you?'"

Sarah found herself holding her breath as well.

"Chuck just stood there like a statue, his mouth hanging open so wide I swear he looked like a zombie. He sounded like one, too. All that would come out was this 'Aaaagggghhhh,' kind of noise. Since all he could do was make zombie noises, I jumped in and said, 'Chuck has an overdue book he needs to return' and she said, 'An overdue book? I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Bartowski. Just put it through the slot into the return bin. I'll check it in in a few minutes.' Then she went into the back office. I gave him a shove and brought him around enough so he could walk to the desk and turn the book in."

"So he managed to get the book turned in. Did he ever actually talk to her?"

He waggled his head back and forth and chuckled. "Nah. Our fifth grade class was scheduled to go to the library every Thursday morning. So every Thursday after that, he wore his best jeans to school and combed his hair, which wasn't easy with all those crazy curls he had going on," he said, fluttering his fingers around his head. "Anyway, he never did talk to her. He just sort of peeked over his shoulder at her a lot." She laughed again when he finished his story by saying, "He never had another overdue library book, though."

She rested a hand on his forearm. "Thank you for telling me these stories, Morgan. You've always been such a wonderful friend to Chuck and I'm glad that you're my friend, too."

"Aw, thanks," he said sheepishly. "You want to ask more questions about Chuck?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Actually, I'd like to ask a question about you."

He stilled like a frightened rabbit.

Snickering she said, "Don't worry. It's not going to be one of _those_ kinds of questions. It will tell me a lot about you, though."

Her words didn't seem to make much of an impact on his demeanor. He still looked like he wanted to hide under his seat.

She took in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. Dramatically, she said, "Okay. Here we go. You ready?" His nod was nearly imperceptible. "Bruce Lee or Jet Li?"

~ O ~

By the time they made their way through the Amsterdam Centraal railway station and boarded the correct blue and white tram to take them to where they were staying, it was four o'clock in the afternoon. After a short ride, they arrived at Leidseplein and disembarked. Sarah quickly counted heads as the tram pulled away. She breathed a thankful sigh when all teams and their members were accounted for.

With a firm grip on Megan's hand, Sarah began a quick survey of their surroundings to get a feel for the area. She'd been to Amsterdam before, but never this area specifically. She immediately noticed that most of the storefronts were restaurants, nightclubs and shops. She wasn't sure if this was the swankiest part of town, but it was well outside the Red Light District, so she was relieved about that. Although she knew there was a lot more to that infamous area than what it was known for, but yet she still didn't want to explain to the kids that the women posing in display windows weren't models.

Chuck studied a map on his iPhone and glanced up and down the streets, several of which converged where they stood. "We need to go down there," he said, pointing to his left. It was a short walk down a cobblestone sidewalk past a row of shops to a narrow street that faced a canal. The buildings that lined the street seemed to be mostly residential. Each home was more vertical than horizontal with some not being more than a few yards in width. It was obvious where one building ended and another began, however, as each had its own unique design. A red brick building with three narrow white trimmed windows across sat next to home painted black with two even narrower windows trimmed with black and white. Next to it was another slightly wider red brick structure with more windows than its neighbor. And so it went down the street.

"Um, wow, Morgan," Chuck said, looking up at the building they all stood in front of. "Are you sure this is right?"

The red brick building wasn't very wide, but it was still wider than the ones on either side of it. There was a wooden front door on the left side of the building with three windows with curtains in them to the right. Above the ground floor, there were two rows of four windows across. Under the rounded edifice at the top, two smaller ones sat above the larger ones with one tiny window at the very top.

Morgan referred to the top paper on his clipboard and then looked up at the number on the front of the building again. "Yeah, this is the place."

Chuck shrugged and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he tried the doorknob, but found it locked.

"Vegas," Casey said to the agent standing off the side with his fellow agent Barstow, "you came here for advance recon. Is this the place?"

"Affirmative," Vegas said.

"It doesn't look big enough to hold half of us," Casey muttered.

"Oh take it easy, Sugar Bear," Lizzie teased, "It's bigger than your apartment and nine of us fit in there, remember?" She smiled serenely as her uncle glowered silently at her.

Morgan looked at his watch and then at his clipboard again. "There's a note on my sheet that says someone's supposed to meet us here in about five minutes. I thought that was strange since a hotel would have a front desk where we'd just check in."

Music from nearby street performers traveled across the water of the canal and drifted around them. The kids, beginning to get bored with just standing around, started to explore up and down the street. Fred, Lisa and Curtis stood at the edge of the canal and peered into a long flat boat with brass railings moored there. Lizzie and Bridget wandered back down the street the way they'd come, checking out the exteriors of the restaurants near the corner.

"Girls, don't wander off too far," Sarah called after them.

"We won't," Lizzie called back over her shoulder.

Sarah caught Vegas tipping his head discreetly in the direction of Lizzie and Bridget. He said something to Barstow and then moved to the other side of the group from where they had been standing. As the girls walked further down the street, they had a bodyguard following them at a short distance.

"Can Martie and me go look at the boat, too, Aunt Sarah?" Megan asked, her upturned face hopeful.

"No. I don't want either of you girls to go too close to the edge of canal."

"How come they get to?" Martie questioned, pointing at her siblings.

"Because they can swim."

As the words left her lips, Curtis and Fred started wrestling, trying to push each other into the water.

"Stop fooling around," Sarah called out as she strode toward them. Her heart jumped into her throat when she saw Fred on one foot, leaning dangerously toward the water. He had a hold of Curtis who was trying to pull him back, but the larger boy was actually pulling them both in. Lisa grasped the back of Curtis' shirt with both hands and held on. Fred let go of his brother, sending Curtis and Lisa tumbling backward. Fred wound his arms around and around in a final, desperate attempt to keep himself from plunging into the canal.

"_Fred!"_ Sarah cried as she leapt forward and reached out to grab him. She managed to get a grip on his shirt, but it was ripped from her hand when he fell sideways into the water with a yelped "aaaaahhhhh" and a splash.

Her heart pounding, Sarah was about to jump in after him when his head popped up and he started treading water. "Fred! Are you okay?" she shouted. "Do you need me to help you?" By then, Casey and Chuck were standing on either side of her, ready to jump in if needed as well.

"No, I'm okay," he called back swimming toward them. The water was a couple of feet below the sidewalk, so Chuck and Casey knelt and reached out their hands for Fred to take. Once the men had firmly gripped Fred's wrists, they stood and hauled him up, water cascading from him. They dragged him to the middle of the sidewalk where he sat, a giant puddle beginning to form around him.

He ran his hands through his wet hair and then dragged them over his face trying to dry it. The relief Sarah felt when he was safely pulled from the water was quickly giving way to irritation. But before she said a word, Chuck called out, "Curtis! Get over here!" He pointed at a spot next Fred.

Curtis, head bowed, shuffled quickly to stand next to his soggy brother.

Their uncle glared first at Fred and then at Curtis. "What's the matter with you two?" he said. Even though his voice was controlled and measured, his eyes snapped with anger. "You should know better than to goof around like that!" He swung an arm out and pointed to the canal. "You could have really gotten hurt falling in. There might have been something just under the surface that you couldn't see and that could have really messed you up."

"Sorry," they both mumbled, their gazes fixed on the ground in front of them. When no one said anything for a moment, Fred scrambled to his feet and stood next to his brother. He kept his gaze averted until he looked up at Chuck, his eyes wide with fear. Reaching behind him, he pulled his iPhone from his back pocket. He swayed as he looked down at the soaked device lying in the palm of his hand. "Can we save it?" he asked, his voice choking with emotion. "How am I going to text Amy if my phone is dead?"

"You know what, dude?" Chuck replied, frustration edging into his voice. "You should have thought of that before you started messing around by the water." Sarah watched him take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. His face softened and he said, "We can try to fix it."

Fred looked back at his uncle with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude on his face.

"You're not off the hook for this, though. Either of you," Chuck warned them with a stern look.

Both boys audibly gulped and dropped their gaze from their uncle's face to the ground again.

On their way back to the group after exploring, Lizzie and Bridget glanced at their wet brother as they walked by. The older girl rolled her eyes while the younger snickered and shook her head.

Even though it was a nice, warm day, Sarah could tell that Fred was getting chilled standing in his wet attire. She opened his suitcase and dug through the jumble of clothes. "Fred, take that wet shirt off and put this on," she said, tossing him the first t-shirt she'd found. He peeled it off and dropped it to the sidewalk with a _splat_.

Lisa's eyes widened with fear. "He's not gonna take his pants off, is he?"

"Depends on how much longer we have to wait to get into the building. But if he does, I promise we'll make sure it's discreet," Sarah replied, still squatting next to Fred's suitcase.

Fred shook his head violently, clearly mortified at the notion. "No! I'm okay. I don't need to take my pants off! Especially in front of them!" He jerked his head toward his sisters.

"Hopefully someone will show up soon. But in the meantime…" She snagged another t-shirt from his suitcase, stood and walked over to him. Tossing the shirt over his head and using it as a makeshift towel, she rubbed his hair to dry it. When she pulled it away, his blond hair stuck up every which way direction, provoking snickers from his brothers and sisters. With a goofy grin, he smashed the hair together at the top of his head to fashion a short "faux hawk," much to the delight of his youngest two sisters. After smashing in down completely so he looked like he was bald, and then having it stick out straight so that it looked like he'd put his finger in a light socket, he finally got it back to the way he usually had it.

Sarah had just closed Fred's suitcase and stood up when she saw a man in a business suit hurrying toward them. "I'm so sorry I'm late," he said in English with the very slightest of accents, as he approached them. "You must be the Bartowski group. You're with the new Amsterdam Buy More?" Heads nodded. "My, there are a lot of you," he said with a smile. "I'm Pieter Oversloot. I'm with Amsterdam Flats."

Chuck stepped forward and put his hand out. "Chuck Bartowski," he said as he and Pieter shook hands. "This is my wife, Sarah," he said, placing his hand on her back. She returned Pieter's smile as she shook his hand. "And these are our kids and crew," he finished. Casey's rumble indicated his displeasure at being known as part of the "crew."

Pieter's smile widened. "Excellent! Welcome to Amsterdam. I hope you have a fantastic stay in our beautiful city."

"Thank you," Sarah answered. "We're looking forward to our time here."

He glanced at Fred and said with a chuckle, "I see one of your group has already gotten to know our canals. I guess it would be wise for us to get you inside and get this young man some dry clothes. I have your keys right here." He pulled two envelopes from his inside jacket pocket. "These are the keys to both apartments you will be staying in." He looked at the group and then to Chuck. "The staircase is really steep and narrow, so I think it would be best if you and your wife check out both apartments first and have everyone else wait here. Then you can decide the sleeping arrangements for your group as you see fit."

Chuck glanced at Sarah who nodded at him. "You all wait here and we'll be back in a few," Chuck said to the group. There was a general murmur of agreement.

"There are two keys in each envelope. One opens the front door of the building and the other opens the door to the apartment," Pieter advised them as he took the set of keys from one of the envelopes, slipped it into the lock, and opened the door. They squeezed into a small entryway and saw a door to their left with the letter "A" attached to it. Directly in front of them was a narrow staircase.

Pieter started up the stairs with Chuck and then Sarah following behind.

"You will be staying in the apartments on the middle and top floors. Each apartment has two bedrooms and can sleep up to six people. Each master bedroom has a double bed and the other bedroom has two single beds. There is also a pull out double bed from the sofa in the living room. I am aware that you have thirteen in your party, so we have made a special arrangement for one of the apartments to sleep seven."

Sarah felt herself deflate. She knew what that meant—a mattress on the floor of their master bedroom where Megan would sleep. She saw Chuck's shoulder slump, just a little. Blowing out a breath, she thought, _it's going to be a long trip_.

They reached the first landing and Pieter unlocked the door to the apartment. Stepping inside, Sarah saw that it was very nice. It wasn't huge, but it was certainly bigger than the hotel rooms they'd previously stayed in. White walls and area rugs covering hardwood floors gave the flat a bright, open feel. The slate gray sofa and armchairs in the living room looked comfortable and durable. They wandered through the apartment, checking out the kitchen, dining area, two bedrooms and the bathroom. There wasn't an extra mattress on the floor of that master bedroom, so the guys would probably be staying in this one. Sarah was impressed with the flat as Pieter pointed out the different amenities.

Once they left that apartment and started up the next flight of stairs, Pieter put one set of keys away and took out the other. Opening the door, he said as they entered, "This apartment has the same conveniences as the one downstairs, it just has a slightly different floorplan." Sarah immediately noticed the short wood staircase against the far wall of the living room. Leaving Chuck with Pieter as they toured the rest of the apartment, she slowly climbed the half-dozen steps to the next level. As she suspected, it led to the master bedroom. Peeking through the doorway, she glanced around. Light streamed in from the three smaller windows she'd noticed from the outside. The room was small and sparsely decorated with only a double bed, two nightstands—a small lamp atop each—and an armoire. Her eyebrows pulled together when she didn't see a mattress on the floor. _Huh_.

She went back down the steps and made a quick sweep through the rest of the apartment. "Pieter, you said there were arrangements for a seventh person to sleep in one of the apartments. Could you tell us what those are?"

Pieter folded his hands in front of him. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I misspoke. What I should have said was you received approval for a seventh to sleep in one of the apartments, for a small extra fee, of course. We usually closely adhere to the maximum limits set for each apartment, but since you have seven children to accommodate, we made an exception."

"Thank you," Sarah said. "We appreciate that so much." She turned to Chuck and said, "The six guys will obviously be in one apartment and the five girls will be with us."

"Where will Megan sleep?" Chuck asked her.

"If I may make a suggestion," Pieter offered. "If it's the youngest child, I would use the cushions from the sofa and put them on the floor somewhere. They must be removed before the bed inside the sofa can be pulled out anyway. We've supplied extra linens. It should make for a nice bed for an adventurous sleeper," he finished with a smile.

Chuck's eyes shone and a tiny smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. Giving Sarah a significant look, he said, "We could put her bed anywhere we want."

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, returning his gaze. Her breathing suddenly grew shallow. "I'm sure she'd enjoy sleeping in the same room with her sisters again."

He nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. And she _is_ adventurous." Tearing his eyes away from hers, Chuck grinned and pumped Pieter's hand vigorously. "Thank you. That's a great idea. I'm loving Amsterdam already."

The other man, a bit perplexed, smiled and said, "I'm glad to hear that." He slipped the key back into the envelope, took the other one from his pocket and handed both to Chuck. "There are maps and tourist information in these envelopes as well as important phone numbers in case you need anything from us." He shook Sarah's hand again. "Enjoy your stay."

"I'm sure we will," she answered with more enthusiasm then she had intended.

As Pieter walked toward the door, Chuck whispered in her ear, "I think he'd be surprised to know how much we're going to enjoy our stay."

His hot breath in her ear made her literally shiver. Once Pieter closed the door behind him, it was all she could to stop herself from leading Chuck up the steps to the master bedroom, slamming the door behind them and barricading it with the wooden armoire. The only thing that prevented her was the knowledge that there were eleven people waiting patiently for them downstairs. That still didn't stop her, however, from tossing her arms around his neck and giving him a searing kiss. "_Later_," she promised in a husky voice.

Cross-eyed, Chuck's head bobbled in response. "_Later_," he croaked.

~ O ~

It took quite a bit of effort, but eventually all the luggage was hauled up the stairs and stashed in the appropriate apartments. After a serious amount of negotiations, it was decided that Curtis and Fred would share the double bed in the lower apartment while Vegas and Barstow would take turns crashing on the sofa bed. Casey and Morgan were given the room with the two single beds. Sarah noticed the dark look that crossed Casey's face at that bit of news. His comment of, "If you snore or talk in your sleep, Grimes, I'll smother you with a pillow," was met with stern looks from Sarah, Martie and Megan. His grumbled, "Fine, I promise I won't kill him," response gave Sarah hope that Morgan would still be alive the next morning.

Chuck, Sarah and the girls took the apartment above the one Fred had dubbed the "Man Cave of Awesome" after seeing the wide screen TV. Megan was ecstatic when she was told about her "sleeping adventure" and, as predicted, excited to be sleeping with her sisters like a big girl.

By the time everyone was settled into the new living arrangements, it was dinnertime. It had been a long day of travel and everyone was tired, so they decided to eat dinner in. The eleven of them crammed into the Man Cave of Awesome—Vegas and Barstow had been given the evening off and the former had talked the latter into going to a nearby nightclub—and scarfed down several pizzas brought in from a local pizzeria.

While they were eating, the guys teased Chuck endlessly about being the only male in the upstairs apartment and how he would probably end up with painted toenails. He took every jab with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. Of course the girls volleyed back with their own barbs about how at least their apartment wouldn't have to be condemned by the health department after they left.

After dinner, Chuck got everyone's attention. "Okay, here's the deal."

There was a chorus of groans. The kids knew nothing good ever came about when their uncle started out like that.

"Oh, come on!" he said with feigned hurt. "It's not that bad."

"The last time you started with that, we had to clean out the garage," Curtis reminded him.

"You have a point," Chuck conceded, "but there is no garage here, so you're safe. No, after Fred's little plunge into the canal earlier today, we realized that it's time—" he paused dramatically, "to do laundry!"

The groans grew louder. Sarah, sitting next to Chuck on the couch, worked to keep from laughing at their reactions. She couldn't wait to see their responses to the next part. Holding his hands up to quiet the group, he said, "This is perfect timing. Both apartments have a washer and dryer and face it, we're all running out of clean clothes."

The mumbles of agreement acknowledged his point.

"Tonight, Aunt Sarah and I are going to do ours, Megan's and Martie's in the apartment upstairs while Curtis and Fred do Lizzie's, Lisa's and Bridget's."

It was like all the air had been sucked from the room. An eerie silence fell as eyes shifted from face to face.

"Um, what?" a stunned Fred managed.

"And guess what? You get to do your own tomorrow night. This is the price you pay for goofing around by the canal when you knew better." His eyes traveled to the bowl on the table where Fred's phone was submerged in uncooked rice. "You'd better hope the rice dries your phone out, too, or you'll be paying an even bigger price."

Fred flopped back in his chair. Sarah could tell he was annoyed, but she and Chuck had talked about it, and it seemed like an appropriate form of punishment. "Yeah, okay," the teen grumbled.

"Why do I have to do it, too?" Curtis complained.

Both Chuck and Sarah gave him looks that told him he shouldn't question them. He didn't.

Lizzie cleared her throat. Glancing at her sisters who nodded at her encouragingly, she said, "I'm all for Fred and Curtis being punished—pretty much all the time for anything—but please don't punish us and our clothes by having these two Neanderthals touch them."

Assuming this would be the girls' response, Chuck and Sarah had come prepared. "How about we put the three of you in a supervisory position over the boys? You make sure they sort, load, wash, dry and fold the way you want them to. And you can hold back anything you'd rather wash yourselves." Chuck offered.

While the girls' faces shone with excitement and approval, Fred covered his face with his hands and moaned while Curtis' registered abject shock and horror.

"Uncle Casey and Uncle Morgan will be here to referee any disagreements and/or squabbles," Chuck said. Sarah had earlier talked Casey into that role by appealing to his sense of discipline and how the boys needed to be taught some. "We aren't completely heartless, though. In an effort to keep things from being too boring between loads, you're going to enjoy a double feature. I looked through the apartment's stash of DVDs and found," he pulled DVD boxes from behind his back and held them up, "_Megamind_ and _The Incredibles_."

The little ones bounced with approval while the older kids nodded theirs.

Megan turned to Sarah and looked at her with great concern. "You and Uncle Chuck will be all by yourselves up there. What are you gonna do? You want me and Martie to come with you and keep you company?" Martie nodded her willingness.

Morgan ran a hand over his beard to hide his smile while Lizzie flat out snorted. Everyone else shifted in their seats. Sarah smiled and touched her finger to Megan's nose. "That's very generous of you, sweetie, but I have a report to write for Director Graham about what happened last night and Uncle Chuck has to finish some software."

Megan nodded. "The Kingston patch."

Chuck snickered next to her and shook his head in disbelief.

"Yes, that's right. He's almost done and needs to get it finished soon. Besides, I know how much you like these two movies."

"That's true," Megan admitted. The little girl gave her a firm look. "If you get bored, you promise to come get us, okay?"

Sarah smiled and replied, "Okay. I promise."

~ O ~

Sarah left Chuck to make sure the boys understood they needed to take doing the laundry seriously, while she helped the other girls get their things together upstairs. Once the girls and their loads of clothes were safely downstairs, Sarah opened her and Chuck's suitcases and started to toss their dirty clothes into piles against the bedroom wall. She had just finished their bags and was about to tackle Martie's and Megan's clothes when she heard Chuck call her name when he entered the apartment. "I'm up here. I'll be right there." Her heart fluttered in her chest with anticipation.

Barefoot, she'd barely padded out of the room when she heard him bound up the wooden steps in two strides. He slid to a sudden stop in front of her and his jaw dropped.

"What?" she said coyly.

He pointed mutely at what she wore. The only thing she wore.

"It's the only clean thing I have. I need to wash everything else." She looked down at his white dress shirt and then back to him. "I assumed you wouldn't mind."

His slack face wobbled when he shook it. His eyebrows shot up when he processed what she'd just said. "Wait. _Everything_ everything?"

She took a step closer to him and purred, "_Everything_ everything."

The keys to the apartment slipped from his hand and dropped on the rug. With a small smile, he reached out and tugged her to him by the front of her shirt. His arms completely enveloped her and she melted against him. His lips immediately found hers. She moaned with pleasure when he kissed her with a delicious mixture softness and intensity. He slowly, luxuriously deepened the kiss, causing her legs go weak in response. She deepened the kiss even further, as if she just couldn't get close enough to him. Growing impatient, she tugged at the bottom of his shirt, trying to lift it up. Their kiss broke long enough for him to rip it off over his head and toss it blindly aside. They crashed into each other again, frantic and desperate to be as close to each other as physically possible. Her hands roamed over his back, while one of his tangled in her hair and the other crushed her to him. Her fingers eventually found their way to the top button of his jeans and loosened it. That in turn loosened a growl from Chuck and he kissed her harder. It finally became too much for him. He released her, stepped over to the bed and with one hand, threw the bedding back, causing decorative pillows to fly every which way. He pulled her to him again, and kissed her as he lowered her onto the bed.

Resting on an elbow, he gazed into her eyes and softly brushed strands of hair away from her face. Leaning over, he kissed her again as his fingers trailed down to the top button of her shirt. She writhed and gripped the sheet when his fingers lingered over each button as they slowly, deliberately, excruciatingly, worked their way down, unbuttoning the front of her shirt. All the while, his mouth never left hers. When he finally loosened the last button, he laid open the shirt and let his hand explore.

Deciding that turnabout was fair play, she cradled his face with one hand and worked the buttons of his jeans with the other, doing exactly the same to him what he had just done to her. She looked into his face when he barely lifted his head from hers, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. He moaned and shuddered against her when her fingers undid the final button. Uncontrollably, she arched, her back lifting off the mattress in response. Chuck's jeans soon joined his shirt on the floor and after what had seemed like an eternity for two madly in love newlyweds, it was finally—finally—_later_.


	24. Around Town

**A/N: **Thanks everyone! Special thanks go to my beta, **AgentInWaiting**, for turning this chapter around quickly so it could be posted today and **Aerox** for sharing his Dutch-ness and sense of humor with me. I have used a few Dutch words in this chapter. Pronounce at your own risk. I would suggest Google Translate if you want to hear the words spoken by a native.

I'm posting photos over at my blog. ChuckvsSOM blogspot com. (You know where the dots go.) Check it out.

**Chapter 24 – Around Town**

Sarah switched off the light in the bathroom and waited for her eyes to adjust before moving. Outside, the darkness was giving way to gray as dawn approached. Once her eyes adjusted, she padded across the hardwood floor toward the room where Lizzie, Lisa and Megan slept. She peeked through the partially open door—Megan didn't like sleeping in a room where the door was completely shut—and found all three girls sound asleep. Lizzie and Lisa had laid claim to the two twin beds pointing out their seniority over their sisters. Megan was curled into a ball in her makeshift bed of sofa cushions on the floor. While it made more sense to have Megan in the living room in terms of available floor space, it had been decided that it would be best for her to sleep in the bedroom with her oldest sisters since it would be quieter. Sarah was just relieved that Megan had fallen asleep at all having been so excited the evening before about her "sleeping adventure."

Stacks of poorly folded clothes lay in the two open suitcases sitting side-by-side along one of the walls. When the girls had returned to the upstairs the prior evening with their clean clothes, they had beamed with pride that they had made Fred and Curtis fold every single thing. It hadn't been important to them that the different articles of clothing weren't folded perfectly. The looks of sheer torture on their brothers' faces overcame any concern they might have had about wrinkled clothes.

Leaving the sleeping girls, Sarah silently crept through the living room back toward the set of wooden stairs to the master bedroom. The living room was a bit of a disaster area with the sofa bed pulled out, the coffee table shoved off to one side of the room and three more suitcases stashed along the walls. If _this_ apartment's living room looked like that, she could only imagine what the one downstairs looked like. Despite the chaos of the room, Bridget and Martie slept soundly on the sofa bed's thin mattress.

Her "patrol" complete, she tiptoed up the short set of stairs and back to the master bedroom. As she stole around the end of the bed to her side, the clock on her nightstand read a few minutes before five a.m. Trying not to awaken her sleeping husband, she gently sat on the side of the bed and slowly lifted her legs and slid them under the sheet. Lying back, she pulled the sheet up over her shoulders and closed her eyes.

Chuck rolled from his side onto his back and asked in a sleepy voice, "Perimeter secure, Agent Walker?"

She chuckled lightly and answered in a whisper, "Yes, it's secure. I'm sorry I woke you. It's early. Go back to sleep."

"'Kay, but only if you promise not to be so far away," he whispered back, reaching for her. How she could be "far away" when they both shared a double bed was beyond her, but she didn't really care. Happy to comply, she rolled toward him and rested an arm across his chest, one of her legs sandwiched between both of his.

"Better?" she whispered.

"Mm-hmm."

Other than a contented sigh, Chuck remained silent. After a few minutes, Sarah assumed he had gone back to sleep, so it surprised her when he asked drowsily, "You know what we haven't done in a while?"

She picked her head up off his shoulder and looked at him. The tiniest hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Lying her head back down, she answered in a low voice, "I know what my answer would have been twelve hours ago, but right now, I'm not so sure."

"Jogging. We were gonna go jogging and I was gonna show off my hot wife to all of Europe, remember?" he slurred.

She lifted her head again and squinted at him, wondering if he was actually talking in his sleep. His eyes were still closed, but the smile had grown.

"Are you saying you want to get up right now, at five o'clock in the morning, and jog around Amsterdam?"

He raised his eyebrows over still shut lids and shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe. Or maybe we could figure out another way to work off some calories and release some endorphins instead of running."

Her heart immediately started to pound. That sounded like an excellent idea to her. "Hmmm. Let's think about that," she purred, grazing her parted lips across the stubble on his jaw. "It _is_ still kind of dark outside."

"Mm-hmm."

"And I don't think leaving the girls here asleep by themselves is a very good idea," she said as she left a trail of soft kisses along his jawline.

"Mm-mmm," he hummed.

"All things considered, I think it's best if we stay right here in bed."

"I can't argue with your logic." He rumbled when she kissed his throat. "But we still have the endorphin issue to figure out."

Shifting her body on top of his, she said, "You know, I think I might have a solution that would benefit both of us." Her hair cascaded around her face as she held it inches from his.

He finally opened his eyes and looked into hers. Reaching up, he hooked a lock of hair behind her ear and then rested his palm on the side of her face. "I'm liking your idea already."

Bouncing an eyebrow, she answered in a deep, sultry voice, "I know."

~ O ~

When Sarah awoke and opened her eyes, bright daylight streamed into the bedroom through the three small windows. She jerked her head up and looked at the clock. It was nine-fifteen. _Holy crap!_ Throwing back the covers, she jumped out of bed, snatched the pair of jeans draped across the small chair in the corner of the room and tugged them on. Pulling a sweatshirt on over her nightgown, she ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. She then flung open the door, took the stairs in two bounds and landed on the floor below like an Olympic gymnast sticking her landing.

At the sound of Sarah bare feet thumping on the floor, all five girls turned toward her. "Good morning, Aunt Sarah," Megan said with a wide smile. She sat at the dining table with Lizzie, Lisa and Martie, her feet swinging back and forth. Bridget leaned against the back cushions in the sofa bed, a book resting in her lap while she munched on a piece of bread. All were still in their pajamas.

"Good morning, everyone. Looks like you've got it all under control here," she said as she walked toward them.

"Yup, we do," Lizzie responded. "I made some coffee. I hope it's okay if I had some." She tipped her mostly empty cup toward Sarah showing her the light brown drink. "It's mostly milk," she said sheepishly.

"That's fine, Liz," she answered. "Do you mind if I have some?"

"Of course not. I made it for you and Uncle Chuck."

Sarah heaved a sigh. "Thank you. As your brother would say," she dropped her voice to mimic Fred, "'you're awesome, dude.'"

Lizzie grinned and her sisters snickered.

"Aunt Sarah?" Lisa started. "You should have some bread with some peanut butter and these chocolate sprinkles on it. Between the scones in London, the pastries in Paris and chocolate sprinkles in Amsterdam, breakfast in Europe is the best."

"Oh, trust me," Sarah said from the kitchen as she poured herself a cup of coffee, "I know all about _pindakaas met hagelslag_." She took a sip of the brew. It was a bit strong, but Lizzie was just learning how to make it, so overall it was an excellent effort. She added a bit of sugar and walked over to the table. Anyone have any _ontbijtkoek_?"

"Um, what?" Martie asked.

"It's kind of a spicy breakfast cake. It's one of my favorites." She eyed the different foods the girls were eating. "Actually Lizzie, that's what you're eating, although technically, you should put some butter on top of it or some cheese."

Lizzie shook her head. "It's perfect the way it is," she said.

Sarah wandered back into the kitchen to slice off a piece of _ontbijtkoek_ for herself.

"How did Uncle Chuck know what to get for us to have a real Dutch breakfast?" Lisa asked.

"When Uncle Casey and I went to the grocery store yesterday before we picked up the pizzas, we just asked one of the people that worked there," Chuck answered as he sauntered across the living room wearing the same grey t-shirt and long flannel pants he'd been wearing when the girls came upstairs the night before. After the couple enthusiastically engaged in their highly anticipated alone-time activities while all the kids were downstairs occupied with laundry and movies, they dressed and actually did what they told the kids earlier what they were going to do. They finished loads of laundry, Sarah wrote reports and Chuck worked on software. When the girls later walked through the apartment door, they found the two sitting together on the sofa as if they'd spent a tragically boring evening at home—a boring evening that left them happy and relaxed. Lizzie's snort was the only indication their pretense wasn't entire successful.

Now, as he walked past Bridget, Chuck reached out and ruffled her hair. She craned around and grinned up at him. Then he headed straight for the kitchen where Sarah opened the cupboard and took down a cup for him.

"Good morning, Uncle Chuck," Megan called out.

"Good morning, Miss Megan," he sang, smiling back at her beaming face. Sidling up behind his wife, he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her cheek as she poured him some coffee.

"Lizzie made coffee for us this morning," she said, handing it to him over her shoulder. She winked at her niece who looked pleased.

"Wow, I'm impressed! Thank you." He took the cup and sipped it. Without a word, Sarah slid the sugar bowl along the counter a tiny bit to let him know it was available. He scooped some into his cup and stirred. He followed Sarah out of the kitchen and stood next to her by the table. "The funny thing is," he said, continuing his thought from before, "Uncle Casey said he didn't want to mess with breakfast for himself at the apartment, so he said he would to go to the coffee shop around the corner to get breakfast in the morning." He took another sip of the strong brew. "He told me he might take the boys with him if they were interested."

Sarah's gaze snapped to his face. "Did he say 'coffeeshop' or 'café'?"

He looked back at her, clearly puzzled by her question. "Sorry, I don't remember exactly," he replied apologetically. "Why? Does it matter?"

She blew out a breath. "Here? It does." She knew Casey. He would never take the boys to one of those places if he knew what it was. But what if he didn't? She could assume that he did, but she didn't really know. It had never been a topic of conversation. She was positive he would quickly get them out of there once he figured it out, but she wasn't too excited by the idea of the boys even being put into a situation like that. She was probably being paranoid, but she needed to know for sure. "Excuse me. I need to go downstairs for a minute." She set her breakfast and coffee on the table, strode through the door and hurried down the stairs. When she reached the door, she knocked and called out "It's Sarah!" Curious as to what was going on, Chuck and the girls trailed down the stairs behind her.

The door was opened by a confused looking Agent Barstow. "Agent Walker. Is there a problem?" He stepped to the side to allow the contingent from upstairs entry.

"Is Casey here? Chuck said he was going to take the boys with him to a 'coffeeshop'. I assume he meant 'café,' but I'm not sure he knows the difference. I just wanted to check."

Barstow shook his head. "No, ma'am. He left by himself a few minutes ago. Doctor and Bronco are still in residence and at last bed check, were still asleep. As an aside, ma'am, no one under eighteen would be admitted."

Putting her hand on her forehead, she sighed. "Of course! You're right. I wasn't thinking. I just heard 'Casey's taking the boys to a coffeeshop' and I didn't think it all the way through."

"Perfectly understandable, ma'am."

The boys wandered out from their room yawning and rubbing their eyes. "Aunt Sarah, what's the matter?" Curtis asked, his hair sticking straight up in the front like a rooster's comb.

"That's some pretty awesome hair you got going on there," Lisa said with a laugh.

He ran his hand over it, trying to smash it down. It didn't help. As if defying gravity, it popped straight up again.

"I'm sorry, guys," Sarah said sheepishly. "I heard Uncle Chuck say you were maybe going to a coffeeshop with Uncle Casey and I wanted to make sure you didn't."

Fred scrunched his nose. "We didn't want to. Those kinds of places are boring."

Sarah laughed at that and Barstow's eyebrows rose three millimeters.

"I think we're missing something here," Chuck said. "What's wrong with going to a coffee shop? I mean, you and I had some great times at the place in Beaver Creek last fall." He gave her a sly smile and bounced his eyebrows once.

_Oh, I remember_. A little hum escaped when she thought back on those days. Jill Roberts had been staying at the house then and was none too subtle in her pursuit of Chuck. Sarah and Chuck—along with Casey's help—had met at that café in the village to spend time together alone without Jill's constant interruptions and interference. Sarah had looked forward to seeing him there every morning, even while she was still trying to convince herself that she only saw him as her "asset."

She came back to the present from her momentary lapse into the past. "Yes, we did have some nice visits, didn't we?" she said vaguely, but with a knowing glance directed toward her husband. That elicited several groans and eye rolling from the kids.

"It never stops with you two, does it?" Lizzie asked with a chuckle.

"You know it doesn't," Chuck said with an unapologetic smile.

"So what's the deal with coffee places here in Amsterdam then?" Morgan asked from his place on the sofa.

All eyes were on Sarah as they waited for her explanation. The kids were bound to see some of the establishments in question as they explored the city, so she decided to be straight with them. "Well, what you're talking about—places where they serve coffee—are called 'coffee houses' or 'cafés.' A 'coffeeshop'—where it's spelled as one word—" she said looking to Chuck and then Morgan to make sure they were catching the importance of that bit of information, "is a place where people go to smoke marijuana."

While the faces of the adults and older kids showed their surprise, Megan and Martie looked perplexed.

"What's marijuana?" Martie asked, pronouncing the word slowly and carefully.

Everyone in the room tensed. _Oh boy_. She'd really stepped in it big this time. She looked to Chuck remorsefully and mouthed to him, _I'm sorry_.

He gave her a small wink and a tiny nod. Addressing Martie, he answered, "It's a kind of drug."

"Oh," Martie replied. She shrugged and added, "Okay."

Megan's face scrunched, her mind clearly analyzing what she had heard. "If they sell drugs at coffeeshops, do they sell coffee at drug stores?"

Small chuckles escaped and the tension broke. Everyone started breathing again.

The door to the apartment opened and Casey, who started to walk in, pulled up short and scowled when finding the room full of people. "What the he—ck? Did someone forget to send me a memo?" He stepped the rest of the way into the apartment and closed the door behind him. He took a sip from the McDonald's cup in his hand and growled, "What?"

"I'm sorry, Casey," Sarah said. "This is my fault. I heard you were maybe going to take the boys to a 'coffeeshop' and I didn't know if you knew what that was."

Casey snorted. "I think your brain is still asleep from all that _relaxing_ you did last night. Give me some credit, Walk—" At the fierce glowers sent his way from the two little ones, he corrected himself, "Bartowski." He glanced back at the girls who now beamed at him with approving smiles. "I'm not some naïve moron like—" This time, it was Sarah who glared at him. "I didn't just fall off the turnip truck," he finally managed, frustration edging into his voice. "I wouldn't set foot in one of those places. Bunch of da—rned dope smoking Dutch hippies," he grumbled. Scowling back at her, he said, "I was talking about going to that place up the street, the 'Café de something or another.' I went by there, but it was too crowded, so I went to McDonald's." He held up his cup as proof. "Does that meet with your approval?" he asked Sarah with a hint of sarcasm.

"Of course." Dipping her head, she said, "Again, I apologize for doubting you."

"Yeah, well, you were just looking out for those two knuckleheads over there," Casey said, nodding at the boys. To Curtis he said, "Nice hair."

The boy grinned while everyone else snickered. He didn't seem to care about his hair at all. "Uncle Casey? There's a McDonald's close by? What'd you eat for breakfast?"

"It was something called a 'McTosti.' Melted Swiss cheese and ham toasted between two buns. It was pretty good."

Both Fred and Curtis swallowed as if that was the most delicious thing they'd ever heard of. "Will you take us there for breakfast this morning?" Fred asked the big man hopefully.

"Yeah, but only if Enforcer approves," he answered, cutting his eyes toward Sarah.

Curtis and Fred grinned while Morgan let out a guffaw. Even Barstow's lip twitched.

Sarah's eyes darted from one face to the next. The guys were up to something, but she'd have to figure it out later. Consulting Chuck with raised eyebrows, he nodded his consent. "Okay, you can go."

"Yay!" both boys shouted and ran to their room to change.

"Morgan, what time do we need to be ready to go to the tournament?" Chuck asked.

Morgan checked the top page of his ever-present clipboard and said, "The Amsterdam Buy More is on P.C. Hooftstraat, so we need to figure out how far away that is. The tournament is set to start at two o'clock."

"The Buy More is a seven to ten minute walk from here," Barstow informed them, pointing toward the window. "Across two canals and down the street. It's just past the Mont Blanc store. If you hit Louis Vuitton, you've gone too far."

From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Bridget's head snap toward the agent. "Did you say Louis Vuitton?"

"Yes, miss. It's right across the street from Chanel."

Bridget grew completely still, like she was a robot and someone had just flicked her "off" switch. Unblinking, she stared into Barstow's face. After a moment, she gulped and in a tremulous voice asked, "Did… did you just say, Cha—" She choked and clamped her hand over her mouth, as if saying the name aloud was blasphemous. Pulling her hand away, she squeaked, "Chanel?" The hand flew back over her mouth.

"Yes, miss," the agent replied. Sarah noticed a tiny glimmer in his eye and suppressed a smile. He knew exactly what he was doing. "It's on the same side of the street as Gucci. You can't miss it."

An "eeeep" and a muffled "Gucci" sounded from behind the hand.

"Yikes," Lisa said, laughing at her sister. "Someone get some smelling salts."

"Are you gonna be okay?" Martie asked, staring wide-eyed at Bridget.

She nodded, her eyes shining. Sarah wasn't exactly sure, but she looked like she was about to break down into tears.

"I think someone needs to get over to P.C. Hooftstraat as soon as possible," Sarah said, hoping her niece didn't forget to breathe.

"Okay, kids, let's move!" Chuck said, clapping his hands once. "Your sister needs to shop."

~ O ~

It was a beautiful late spring morning. The sun was warm, but not hot. The humidity, while higher than what they were used to in Colorado, wasn't oppressive, so it was a pleasant day to be outside and Leidseplein and its surrounding area was certainly a great place to spend time outdoors.

To no one's surprise, a highly motivated Bridget was the first one finished getting into her Buy More uniform. At exactly ten o'clock, she was ready to head out the door and go directly to Amsterdam's equivalent of Fifth Avenue. Sarah assumed that the shops would be similar in size to the ones nearby their apartment: charming but small. Since the boys, Lisa and the younger girls weren't terribly excited about shopping—and it was likely that there would be a lot of standing around and grumbling, much like what happened in Paris—it was decided that Sarah would take Bridget and Lizzie over to P.C. Hooftstraat and then meet up with the rest of the family later for lunch.

Bridget, of course, wanted to go directly to the Chanel store. Once they set off from the apartment, Sarah and Lizzie had to hurry to keep up. The girl was like a laser guided missile locked on its target. As they passed one high-end boutique after another, Bridget kept her focus straight ahead. She would not be distracted from her mission.

When they reached the front of the shop, they didn't go in right away. They stood in front of it while Bridget simply soaked it all in. After several minutes of gazing at the mannequins in the two decorated windows, they finally went inside.

It was early in the day and the store had only been open for a short time, so Sarah and the girls were the only people in the place other than the two sales assistants. In less than a minute, Bridget and the two women were deep in conversation, discussing the fall line, fabrics, colors, shoes, hemlines, handbags, and accessories. Sarah proudly told the women that Bridget had designed the uniforms they wore and had used classic Chanel as her inspiration. Both women beamed their approval of the apparel. After one of the sales assistants asked Sarah if she was a model—much to Bridget and Lizzie's delight—the four ganged up on her and talked her into trying on some of the clothes. They all enjoyed the spontaneous "fashion show," and while Sarah at first resisted buying anything, she eventually gave in. She purchased a form fitting sapphire blue dress Bridget insisted that she _would_ wear it sometime while they were in Europe and that when she did, she _would_ knock Uncle Chuck's socks off. Her reluctance to spend so much money on a dress for herself was dismissed by, "It's not a _dress_, it's _Chanel_." The sales ladies nodded their agreement with Bridget's assertions with great enthusiasm.

For Bridget, the highlight of the whole experience came just before they left. Both sales ladies told her that she should contact Chanel headquarters in Paris as soon as she graduated from fashion and design school.

With that in mind, Bridget could have spent the rest of the day on the street, going from one boutique to the next, but they were on a schedule and it was almost time to meet up with Chuck and the rest of the family. They did make one more stop, however. After they walked past the Buy More, they went into Cartier where Sarah made a purchase. Her nieces nearly burst with excitement and crossed their hearts, literally, when Sarah swore them to secrecy. After hiding the item deep in her purse, the three started back toward Leidseplein to join the rest of the family.

They found Chuck, the kids, Morgan and Casey sitting on benches by the fountain in front of the Amsterdam American Hotel. When he spotted them as they approached, Chuck stood and greeted Bridget a side hug and Sarah with a kiss. The kids, scattered around the fountain, called out their "hellos" and Bridget and Lizzie went off to fill the other sisters in on their adventure.

"The pull was too much for you, huh? Just had to buy something?" Chuck teased, pointing at the black shopping bag she carried with the word "CHANEL" emblazoned in white on the side.

She dipped her head and gazed up at him over the top of her aviator sunglasses. With a smile she said, "Don't judge me. Besides, I bought this dress for you."

He peered down into the bag. "I'm not sure it's my size, but if you're into that kind of thing, I'm game," he said waggling his eyebrows at her.

She held his gaze. "I've seen you in a dress," she answered cryptically. "You're quite fetching." Puzzled, he tilted his head and his eyebrows pulled together. Quickly changing the subject, she asked, "Where should we eat?"

With his eyes still narrowed, he answered, "Hold on. Where exactly did you see—" Just then a young man approached them in jeans and a t-shirt with the face of a cartoon bulldog on the front of it. To Chuck he said in English, "Hey! You're speaking English. Are you Americans?"

"Yes, we are," he answered with a wary smile.

"Are you in some kind of religious cult or something?"

While Chuck's eyebrows shot up, Sarah's mouth dropped open in astonishment. They both stared at him, completely dumbfounded. It was a good fifteen seconds before Sarah found her voice and asked, "What makes you think we're in a cult?" That really was one of the most unexpected things she'd ever heard.

"You and the girls are all wearing the exact same clothes," Bulldog said, indicating Sarah's attire with the wave of a hand. "And the guys are wearing the same green shirts."

_Yes, green shirts that say "Buy More" on them_. Sarah had the feeling the young man just came from a visit to a local coffeeshop.

"No, we're not in a cult," Chuck said, doing an admirable job of keeping his voice neutral. He pointed to the yellow letters stitched on the shirt and continued, "There's a new American electronics store opening over on P.C. Hooftstraat. It's called Buy More. We're playing in a _Call of Duty_ video game tournament the store is hosting there. It's part of the grand opening going on today."

His face brightened with recognition. "Wait a minute! I think I saw a flyer for that. You're that gaming family."

"Yes, that's us," Chuck replied.

"And all of you are on the team? Even the kids?" he asked with surprise.

"Yes, they are," Sarah told him.

"And all these kids are yours?"

She stifled a snarky retort and repeated calmly, "Yes, they are."

"You sure got a lot them." Bulldog looked at them from under heavy eyelids. "Are you sure you're not in some kind of cult?"

If this kept up, it seemed to Sarah that Bulldog and one of her knives were going to have an up close and personal meeting. Chuck seemed to have sensed her growing irritation and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "We really need to get going," he said to the young man.

"Right. Okay. I'm going to come watch you play. What time does it start?"

"Two o'clock," Chuck answered with an uneasy smile.

"I'll get some of my friends and we'll come watch."

Chuck's smile faltered. Sarah picked up where he left off and said, "Great. We'll see you there." Whether or not they really would see him there later remained to be seen. The family did need to get lunch before the tournament, though, so she called the kids over to them. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be rude, but we need to leave for lunch."

"Right." Bulldog didn't take the hint and remained there as the kids gathered around their uncle and aunt, eyeing the young man with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Ignoring the other man, Chuck said, "We don't have a lot of time so I thought we'd go to the Hard Rock Café for lunch. I hear the food is good and the service is fast."

Bulldog spoke up. "Oh, yeah! Good choice. I'll show you where it is and then eat with you."

Sarah stiffened and her fingers itched to brandish one of her knives at the guy. That would do the trick, she was sure. She slowly moved her hand to lift the bottom hem of her skirt.

"I don't think that's—" Chuck started to reply.

As if from thin air, Casey appeared directly behind Bulldog and asked with more than a hint of menace in his voice, "Is there a problem?"

The man, clearly surprised, ducked and spun around to find Casey towering over him, his gaze flinty and his face serious. The NSA agent pushed his meaty fist into the palm of his other hand. Bulldog blanched at the big man's threatening stance and the cracking sounds that came from his knuckles.

"You have a green…" the young man said, suddenly very nervous staring up at the major's surly face. To Chuck he said, "I just remembered. I, uh, have a, uh… I have to go." He took off down the street in a dead sprint. If he had been a cartoon, there would have been swirls left where he had been standing. They watched him retreat and disappear around a corner.

"Well, that was strange," Sarah said.

"Thank you, Casey," Chuck said. "I think our 'friend' was hoping to get a free meal from us."

"Hippie," he grumbled under his breath.

"What was all that about?" Lizzie asked.

Chuck shook his head in disbelief and let out a guffaw. "He wondered if we were in a cult."

She stared at him and then started to laugh. Through her giggles, she cried, "What? Why?"

Megan took her aunt's outstretched hand while the rest of the kids automatically teamed up. Checking for trams and bicyclists before crossing the street, Sarah said, "We'll tell you on the way."

~ O ~

As a bass guitar thumped out a beat over the loudspeakers, Sarah meandered her way through the tables of customers toward her family sitting in the courtyard in front of the restaurant. Right after ordering her food, she slipped away, walked to the apartment and deposited her dress and the purchase from Cartier there for safekeeping. It was only a five-minute walk each way, so their food hadn't yet arrived by the time she returned.

Sitting down, she asked Chuck, "Did I miss anything?"

"As a matter of fact, you did," he said, placing his glass on the table after taking a sip of water. "They just played _Another One Bites the Dust_ and you missed it. A classic rock song with a great bass line."

"Oh, I think I heard that," she said, dropping her napkin in her lap. "They were playing it just now."

Chuck's eyes lit up. "Very good, Mrs. Bartowski. We'll have you standing up on the table singing karaoke in no time."

The look she gave him indicated that the chances of that happening were not good. "Don't hold your breath for that, Mr. Bartowski."

He gave her a heart-melting smile. "A guy can hope." He glanced around the courtyard and sat up straighter. "Oh! I should also mention that while you off securing _our_ dress at the apartment," she smirked at the word "our" and his wink, "I think every American in Amsterdam has come up to the table and asked us if we're Americans, too. They recognize the Buy More uniforms and wonder what's up. It turns out sitting here in these things is great advertising. Now we have a bunch of Americans who will be coming to the tournament to cheer us on."

"You're kidding," she said with a laugh.

"Nope."

"That ought to make it fun and interesting," she said as the waiter placed her salad in front of her. As if to prove Chuck's point, while they were eating, three more groups stopped by their table, talked to them and promised to come to the tournament.

Lunch was a fairly quick affair and the group was soon on their way to the Buy More. As they walked along P.C. Hooftstraat, Sarah asked, "I forgot to ask. What did you do while the girls and I were shopping this morning?"

"We walked around the neighborhood, watched some of the street performers. The coolest thing was—" Chuck began, only to be interrupted by Curtis.

"Oh, can I tell her?" he cried, hopping sideways next to them.

"Sure, go for it," Chuck replied.

Curtis' eyes gleamed with excitement. "Okay, so we were sitting on these benches by a canal watching the tourist boats go by, and this other boat with a long arm with a claw at the end floats by. Right next to it is this flat boat—"

"A small barge," Chuck supplied.

"Yeah, this barge is right next to it and it's just piled with these gross, nasty looking bicycles. So the arm with the claw goes down into the water," he demonstrated using his own arm, making his hand like the claw, "and pulls up a bike, hauls it over to the barge and dumps it on top of the pile. Right in that one spot, they picked up, like, four bikes. It was so cool!"

Sarah smiled at his enthusiasm as he continued to bounce down the street next to them. "Then they moved a little further down the canal and brought up a bunch more."

"Why are there so many bicycles at the bottom of the canals?" Sarah asked, grinning at her nephew's zeal.

"There was a whole bunch of people standing around watching, so we asked this older man if he knew. He said that people get drunk and ride their bikes into the canals. Sometimes they throw them in as pranks, too." His face lit up with the next part of his story. "Another guy standing there told us that sometimes they pulled out cars out, too, like those little Smart Cars. People throw those into the canals. Can you believe that?"

"It sounds like it was really exciting to watch," Sarah said. "I'm glad you got to see it."

"Yeah," Curtis said, still bounding along. "It was awesome." He pulled out his phone and showed her the pictures he took. She had to agree. It was pretty amazing and those were some nasty looking bikes.

Their conversation came to an end when they approached the entrance of the Buy More. There was a large group of people milling around, so large in fact that it spilled out into the narrow street.

"What's all this?" Chuck asked.

Someone from the group spied the family and shouted, "Hey! There they are!" There was a cacophony of cheers and shouted greetings.

Sarah immediately recognized several in the group as people who they spoke to at the Hard Rock Café. She had her doubts before as to whether or not any of them would actually show up. Surprisingly, they had.

Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd made a pathway for the Bartowski Family Gamers. Loud calls of encouragement surrounded them as they walked toward the front doors. Chuck, Lizzie, and Bridget accepted the well wishes with self-conscious smiles. Fred, Lisa, Curtis and Morgan high-fived their "fans" as they went past. Sarah and Casey were tense, alert and guarded. Martie and Megan simply grinned and waved.

Once inside the store, Fred crowed, "That was so cool! We're like rock stars or something!"

"That was wild," Sarah agreed, glancing around the store. This was the third Buy More they had been to in Europe and of those three this one was certainly the smallest. It didn't really surprise her given the high-rent district it was in. It certainly was a prime location with a lot of shopping traffic, and given the crowds both inside and outside the store, it certainly seemed to have been the perfect choice.

Upon seeing the family enter the store, the Amsterdam Buy More management team hurried toward them, each member grinning from ear to ear. "Bartowski Family Gamers!" a large, middle-aged man wearing the light grey polyester store manager suit boomed as he strode toward them.

"We really need to do something about those suits," Sarah heard Bridget grumble behind her. She also heard Bridget mumble, "tacky," "colorless," and "boring."

Extending a large, meaty hand, he cried, "Welcome to the Amsterdam Buy More! My name is Grote Maikel and I am the store manager." Starting with Chuck, he proceeded to enthusiastically shake everyone's hand, including Martie's and Megan's, who giggled the entire time.

After shaking his hand, the little ones each tugged at a sleeve of their aunt's blouse. Kneeling down, Sarah asked, "What's up?"

"The man made a funny sound when he said his name," Martie said.

"He said, 'grote,'" Sarah said quietly, pronouncing the "g" in "grote" like she was trying to clear phlegm from her throat. "It means big. It's probably his nickname because he's a big guy. In English, we'd call him, 'Big Michael.'"

The two little girls looked up at Grote Maikel again and then nodded with approval.

Standing up, Sarah heard the store manager say, "The people at the Buy Mores in London and Paris told us your appearances at the tournaments helped to successfully launch their stores. They told us to be sure to advertise your visit and we have." Grote Maikel indicated the people busy shopping around the store with a sweep of his hand and said, "This is better than we could have ever hoped."

"This is the man you should thank," Chuck said proudly, slapping a beaming Morgan on the back. "Morgan Grimes. The tournaments were his idea. We're just the team."

"Well, it is great to meet the genius behind it all," the big man replied, shaking Morgan's hand again. "I would love to talk to you more about other ways to make this store a success. But first, we must attend to our team." To Chuck and Sarah, he said, "Let me take you to the gaming area so you can prepare for the tournament."

The team dutifully followed Grote Maikel to the left side of the store. As they followed him, he turned and asked, "Are any of you hungry? We have some _ontbijtkoek_ in the break room in the back. I would have brought donuts for you Americans, but sadly, the nearby Dunkin' Donuts closed. That was a tragic day. Tragic."

"No, thank you," Chuck answered. "We had lunch a little while ago."

Grote Maikel nodded. "Well, if you do get hungry… Here we are."

To Sarah's surprise, there were only four gaming stations. She looked to Chuck and said, "It looks like this might be a small tournament."

"Oh, no," Grote Maikel said. "There are seven other teams. Four are Dutch, two are Belgian, and one is from Luxembourg. There was a British team that recently inquired about playing today, but since they took part in the tournament in London, it was against the rules. With eight teams, the first round will be played in two shifts."

"Do you remember the name of the team?" Fred's asked, his eyes wide.

The manager gave him a puzzled look. "I'm sorry?"

"The team from London. Do you remember the name of the team?" To Sarah, her nephew sounded really excited and slightly panicked.

Grote Maikel stared thoughtfully at the teen for a moment and said, "I only remember that one of the words was royal: 'Lords' or 'dukes', something like that."

Fred sucked in a breath. "Barons? Was it 'The Temporal Barons'?"

"Yes, that was it!"

When Fred listed dangerously to the side, Casey shot out a hand to steady him. "Easy there, big fella," he said with a smirk.

Looking up to Casey, Fred asked, "What does it mean?"

A rich, familiar voice with a wonderful Scottish accent called out from behind the group, "It means I decided to come watch you all play anyway. I tried to tell you I was coming, but _someone_ hasn't been answering his phone."

"Amy!" everyone shouted. The girls immediately rushed around her and enveloped the redhead in a group hug.

"What a surprise!" Lizzie said, releasing her. "It's so great to see you!"

"You, too!" Amy grinned back.

"I can't believe you came all the way from London," Lisa said.

"Oh, it's not a big deal. It's only about a four and a half hour train trip." She smiled at the group surrounding her. "I hope you don't mind I just showed up like this. It was all kind of a last minute thing. Like I said, I tried to let you know I was coming, but laddie here," she slid her gaze Fred's direction, "hasn't been answering his phone." Fred, clearly in shock, could only stare at her with his mouth agape.

"That's because he and Curtis were messing around by a canal and he fell in with his phone in his pocket. It got all wet and now it's in rice," Martie informed her.

"And Fred and Curtis had to do laundry," Megan added importantly.

She grinned at the two little girls. "Well, that explains it all. Thank you. Why am I not surprised that your brother ended up in a canal?"

The little girls giggled behind their hands.

Sarah looked around but didn't see anyone with Amy. "Did any of your teammates come with you? I hope you didn't travel by yourself."

"No, they didn't come. I'm here with my cousin. She has a good friend from university that lives here and jumped at the chance to visit her while she's home for the summer. I'd already asked for a couple of days off of work in hopes of coming here to compete. When we found out we weren't eligible, I decided it might be fun to come anyway and be a spectator." She looked around the crowded store. "Looks like a lot of people have come to watch."

"We're glad you here," Chuck said. "It's always great to see a familiar face."

"Thank you," she said. "I'm already glad I came."

"How long will you be here?" Bridget asked.

"Just today and tomorrow. We'll go back on Thursday."

"Cool!" Curtis exclaimed. "You can come sightseeing with us tomorrow."

"Only if I'm not imposing," she answered.

"Are you kidding?" Lisa snorted.

"We insist," Sarah added. "We'd love to have you come with us."

Amy slid her gaze in Fred's direction again. He was the only one who hadn't spoken to her, and given his nearly catatonic state, Sarah wasn't surprised by that.

"Are your shoes glued to the floor?" Casey hissed in Fred's ear. "Come on, Romeo. Go say hello." He gave the teen a not so gentle shove. Fred stumbled forward and nearly crashed to the floor at Amy's feet.

"On the floor at her feet?" Chuck whispered into Sarah's ear. "That would have been symbolic." Snickering, she gently hip checked him.

Their nephew righted himself and stood in front of Amy awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

"Oh, give me a hug, you goof," she laughed, throwing her arms out.

A relieved smile exploded on his face. When he stepped forward, she tossed her arms easily around his neck. Still unfamiliar with embracing females not related to him, he gave her a stiff hug in return.

"Are Amy and Fred gonna—" Megan's question was cut off when Lisa clamped her hand over her sister's mouth.

"Hiyo!" Chuck exclaimed, jumping suddenly. "And with that, let's get set up. We have a tournament to win."


	25. International Relations

**A/N:** Thank you, everyone, for reading. Thank you for your reviews, comments, tweets and PMs. I love hearing from you. Keep 'em coming!

Thank you, **AgentInWaiting**. Masterful work, as always.

**Chapter 25 – International Relations**

The Amsterdam Buy More was buzzing with anticipation as the time neared for the tournament to begin. When the tournament announcer introduced the Luxembourger and Belgian teams, there was polite applause for each. As was to be expected, the applause and cheers were significantly louder for the four Dutch teams. However, when the American team was introduced the response was absolutely thunderous. While there were fewer supporters for the American team than for the Dutch, they made up for it by their rowdiness. Sarah felt an odd mixture of pride and embarrassment by this. Casey, of course, was thrilled by the support. Pumping a fist in the air, he chanted "USA! USA! USA!" The Americans quickly joined him.

Not to be outdone, the other teams and their supporters began to chant their countries' names. Soon, the whole Buy More was exploding with shouts and cheers of "Nederland," "België," "Lëtzebuerg," and "USA."

Now that he had managed to whip the entire crowd into a frenzy, Casey—his eyes glinting with triumph—stuck an unlit cigar in his mouth and grinned.

Grote Maikel stared back at him with a surprised and vaguely concerned look on his face.

"What?" Casey asked, feigning innocence.

When the manager's eyes shot up in question, Chuck raised his voice over the din. "He's from Texas!"

Grote Maikal nodded slowly, his mouth forming an O. There was still a look on mild panic on his face—as if he was about thirty seconds away from facing a full-blown riot—when Morgan hurried over to him and shouted, "We should get this thing started."

Shaking off his daze, Grote Maikel leapt into action. He hustled over to the announcer and instructed him to tell the teams playing in the first matches to get ready. The noise level subsided significantly once the teams busied themselves with their preparations. He wiped his brow with relief when the potentially ignoble grand opening of the Amsterdam Buy More—and the accompanying infamy and notoriety that would have followed from the inevitable postings on YouTube—was avoided.

Crisis averted, the games commenced. Since the Bartowski Family Gamers was one of the main draws for many people who came to watch the tournament, they were one of the first four teams to play in the opening round and were pitted against one of the teams from Belgium. During the first best-of-three games, it became clear very quickly that the Bartowskis were having to deal with a language disadvantage. While Sarah knew some Dutch—she could order food, navigate directions and had a fairly decent vocabulary—she was by no means conversationally fluent. The Belgians, on the other hand, spoke both Dutch and English. They understood everything the Bartowskis said while at the same time keeping them in the dark. As a result, the Belgians were able to react immediately to shouted commands from Team Bartowski and were able to thwart every offensive move they tried to make. Conversely, the Bartowskis were always one step behind and constantly reacting to what the Belgians were doing. To the joy of the Belgians and the dismay of the American contingency, the family lost the first game.

During the short break between games, Chuck tried to rally the disheartened members of the team. "Look, it was only the first game. We're a great team with great players. So what if we don't understand what they're saying? We used to play online all the time and never interacted with our opponents other than what we saw on the screen. We _never_ heard them. So we play that way now. If we play _our_ game," he continued, his eyes flashing with determination, "we can win this next game."

"But how can we win when _they_ always know what _we're_ gonna do?" Lisa asked, crossing her arms across her chest in frustration.

"We adjust," Sarah said with conviction, her brain whirring. "We adapt. We make it so they can't understand us."

"How do we do that?" Lizzie asked. "It's not like we can learn a new language in the next five minutes."

"No, we can't." Sarah peered over one shoulder and then the other. Obeying her gesture to come closer, the rest of the team huddled around her. Dropping her voice, she said, "Remember when I first taught you about working as a team? We haven't used it much lately, but think about a watch face."

Faces brightened as they understood what she was telling them. "We only use numbers for direction," she explained. With a burst of inspiration, she added, "And don't say 'o'clock.' That might tip them off." Heads nodded. Gazing from one expectant face to the next, she said, "Another thing. I think they've figured out our names, so now we use our team colors. If you're older than your teammate, you're one. If you're younger, two." Seeing confused looks, she clarified her idea for them. "For example, Fred and Bridget are Blue Team, right?"

"Right," Bridget and Fred affirmed together.

"That means that Fred, you're Blue One. Bridget, you're Blue Two. So now, if we need to warn Fred, we don't shout, 'Fred, behind you!' we say, 'Blue One, six!'"

Enthusiastic murmurs rumbled through the group.

"That might work," Casey said, his eyes intense as he mulled over the strategy.

Curtis snickered. "Uncle Casey is Pink One and Uncle Chuck is Pink Two."

"No way," Casey growled over the laughter. "I'm not Pink One. I'd rather take Martie's spot and be Lizzie's partner on Red Team." Staring at Chuck, he said, "And you could take Megan's place on Gold Team and be with your wife. I'm sure being on her team would make you go tingly all over."

Chuck grinned. "You have _no idea_ how tingly that would make me."

While Sarah's response was a brilliant smile, the rest of the group responded with groaning and an "Ewwww" thrown in for good measure.

Still smiling, Chuck said, "Aw, come on, Casey. They'll never figure it out if you and I are Pink Team." Like waving a red cape in front of a bull, Chuck taunted, "I'm secure enough in my masculinity to be on Pink Team. Are you?"

Hushed "Ooooo"s rippled through the group while all eyes drifted in Casey's direction. His nostrils flared and he snorted like a bull about to charge. While glaring at Chuck, he growled to the whole team, "Let's beat these guys. Pink One has point."

~ O ~

Sarah's new communication strategy worked perfectly. During the second game, the Belgians were completely flummoxed and in disarray and the Bartowskis beat them easily. The third and final game of the first round was much closer, but in the end, the Bartowski Family Gamers emerged victorious.

While the first group of teams left the stations and the second group began to set up, a noticeably distraught Grote Maikel hurried over to Morgan who was talking with Sarah.

"We have a problem," he said, wringing his hands.

"Relax, Grote Maikel," Morgan said, patting the big man on the back. "Maybe I can help. What's up?"

"We haven't been able get everyone inside the store to watch the games. There just isn't enough room. And more and more people are stopping outside wanting to know what's going on. I want to accommodate them, but I'm not sure how."

"What about the Nerd Herd?" Morgan asked, glancing over his shoulder at two men sitting behind the counter. "Do they have any ideas?"

"No," he replied. "The just started. And I'm not sure they're... prepared to help."

Sarah looked at the Nerds staffing the desk. The smaller man with the stick straight dark hair looked bored as he played with a stapler. The other man with crazy blond hair stared at his tie and mumbled to himself. She strongly suspected Grote Maikel was right. "Maybe you can set up a couple of TVs out on the sidewalk for people to watch," she suggested.

Both men mulled that idea over for a moment. "I think we could," Grote Maikel said. "All we need are stands and TVs. We'd have to run some cable. How fast do you think we could do it?"

Morgan shrugged. "It shouldn't take too long."

"Chuck could help," Sarah said. "I hear his exploits as the head of the A/V squad in high school are legendary."

Morgan nodded solemnly. "It's true. The man's a genius with a coax cable."

Sarah scanned the store but didn't see her husband. "Where is Chuck, anyway?" She didn't like not knowing where he was. Ever since Shaw had kidnapped Chuck after the tournament in Colorado, she liked to keep close tabs on him.

"He, ah, had an errand to run between rounds," Morgan said, eyes averted.

She immediately tensed. "He went by himself?"

"Oh, no. He took Bridget with him." At her scowl, he leaned closer to her and said in a low voice, "Vegas went, too."

She put her hands on her hips and stared down her nose at him. "Morgan, where did they go?"

"I can't say," he said, shaking his head furiously. "I've been sworn to secrecy."

"Morgan. I want your intel."

He ran pinched fingers across his lips as if zipping them closed.

"Fine, I'll just use the tracker on his phone," she said, her eyes flashing. She started to reach for her bag on the floor.

"Please, Sarah. Don't do that," he said, pleading with her. "Don't ruin this for him."

Her breath caught in her throat. She didn't know what Chuck was up to, but she trusted Morgan. "Okay," she said softly.

Pulling out his phone, he said while he typed, "I'll send him a quick text and ask him how much longer he'll be." After touching the send button, he looked to Grote Maikel and said, "In the meantime, we can get the stands, TVs and cables together."

A happy and relieved smile appeared on the manager's face as the two rushed off. They enlisted the Nerd Herders at the desk to carry things—the little guy actually wasn't much help and only carried cables—and by the time Chuck, Bridget and Vegas returned, they were ready for Chuck to work his magic.

Once Chuck had run the cables, he was on his hands and knees laying gaffer's tape over them and pressing it to the floor to keep people from tripping over them. Sarah knelt down next to him. "You are quite the sexy A/V squad guy. I love what you're doing with that tape."

Sitting back on his heels, he gave her his best smolder and loudly ripped a long strip of tape from the roll. "You betcha, baby. You love me with tape? You should see what I can do with cable ties."

Laughing, she said, "Promise?"

He bounced his eyebrows at her and went back to work.

"So, we looked for you earlier but Morgan said you went out. Is everything okay?"

Without looking up, he continued dressing the cables. "Yup. Everything's fine. What, ah, exactly did he tell you?"

"He withstood my interrogation pretty well. Only that Bridget was with you on some kind of errand."

"Didn't bring out Sting, huh?" Sarah rolled her eyes. Her husband—much to her exasperation and amusement—had recently named her knives Sting, Excalibur, Gryffindor and The Nasty Knife. "We had something we had to do."

"That's what I keep hearing. Was it successful? The errand I mean. Did you do whatever it was you had to do?"

"Yup."

"Good." She paused and then huffed at her bangs when she saw her husband fighting back a grin. "Well, if you need my help, just ask."

"Mm-hmm." He reached the end of the cables and laid down the last bit of tape. Standing up, he put out his hand for her to take. When she placed her hand in his, he pulled her up from the floor and into his arms. He left her completely weak kneed after he kissed her and whispered in her ear, "I'll remember that. Now, let's play some _Call of Duty_."

In no time, he had everything else hooked up and fired up. The outside crowd cheered and immediately started watching the games that were currently being contested.

In the second round, the Bartowskis faced one of the Dutch teams. That team had been spectators during the first round and during that time, deciphered the "code" of team colors and numbers the Bartowskis had used. With this advantage, the Dutch team won the first game. Facing elimination, Team Bartowski went into the second game determined to win, but also well aware that they could be out of the contest at the end of the game.

While the remaining Belgian team and the Luxembourgers battled each other, the Americans and Dutch began their second game. A thrum of anticipation ran through the crowd as the game commenced. From the very start, all eyes—not only those of the spectators inside, but those of the ever-increasing crowd outside—concentrated on the screens as the two teams worked to gain an advantage over each other.

As the two evenly matched teams battled, it was clear it was going to be a long and difficult fight. That was until a middle-aged woman, her eyes ablaze and her face thunderous, charged into the store and headed straight to two of the younger members of the Dutch team. Both games were paused and an eerie silence fell as the stunned team members and audience watched the woman—clearly the young men's mother—chew them out in a torrent of rapidly spoken Dutch. The boys' faces flamed red with embarrassment as they withstood the brunt of the storm that was their mother's ire. It was a surprise to no one when the brothers looked at each other in defeat and then wordlessly put down their controllers, picked up their rucksacks and with bowed heads and gazes fixed on the floor in front of them, followed their mother from the store.

It was a full thirty seconds before the shocked silence was broken by hushed whispers. The noise level of the store began to return to normal as people started to talk amongst themselves about the rather astonishing incident they had just witnessed.

Unsure how to proceed now that two members of the Dutch team were gone, the tournament officials called for a conference between themselves and each team's captain. Chuck immediately offered to have two of his team sit out so they would be evenly matched, but the Dutch team initially refused. Eventually however, the teams agreed to play with reduced numbers. Much to Bridget's and Curtis' dismay, they had to sit out the rest of the game. The embarrassment and upheaval had apparently rattled the Dutch team because it quickly went down to defeat. The final game was left uncontested when a further analysis of the rules indicated that each team had to have at least seven players. Even though the Bartowski Family Gamers were willing to play the final game with six members on each team, the final decision was made by the officials that the Dutch team had to be disqualified. The Bartowskis were in the championship round.

The Luxembourgers beat the Belgians in two straight games and would meet the Americans in the final. The Bartowskis hadn't had a chance to watch the Luxembourger team play, so they had no idea what their strengths, weaknesses or strategies were. Hoping to find an edge, Sarah covertly listened in as they spoke with each other.

She knew her geography of the region well and that Germany, France and Belgium bordered the tiny duchy. However, she quickly realized the language the Luxembourgers spoke amongst themselves wasn't French, German or Dutch. Listening closely, she could hear traces of all three mixed into a whole new language. A quick Google search informed her that her ear was right. What she was hearing them speak was Luxembourgish, a language that was basically a German dialect with French and Dutch words thrown in. Smiling to herself, she thought back to the linguistic classes she took at Harvard and the intensive language acquisition programs she'd completed at the CIA. Luxembourgish was not high on the list of languages her bosses had insisted she learn.

During the meeting before the first game, Sarah said, "I think we need to do what we did in the first round. We use names and directions in the first game and then switch to team colors and numbers during the second. Try to keep them off balance."

"You didn't get any intel from listening in on them?" Casey asked.

"No, and I think that's one of the reasons why they're doing so well. No one understands what any of them are saying."

Amy, who had joined the briefing, said, "It's too bad you're not from Glasgow. People from there always complain how no one can understand them and they're speaking English. _I_ can hardly understand them and _I'm_ Scottish."

Laughing, Chuck said, "That would certainly level the playing field language-wise, wouldn't it?"

"We always tell everyone Uncle Casey's from Texas, maybe we could all drawl," Lisa said, drawing out the final words of the sentence.

"As fun and entertaining as that would be," Chuck replied with a chuckle, "I think we need to do what Aunt Sarah suggested. They've played the same time we have every round, so they haven't heard our signals or strategies."

"Which means we haven't seen them play, either," Lizzie pointed out.

Chuck shrugged. "We play our game and see what happens." And that's what they did. The Bartowskis played the first game and squeaked out a win. The second game was just as close, only it was won by the Luxembourgers.

"This could go either way," Casey said during their final briefing. "It seems like they have an answer for everything we throw at them." There were murmurs of agreement rustling through the group.

"I've been watching them closely and noticed some things," Amy spoke up. "I'm sure you would have noticed these things, too, if you weren't so busy trying not to get shot yourself. Do you mind if I tell you about them?"

"Are you kidding?" Sarah answered. "Please do. We can use all the help we can get."

Amy smiled slyly and dropped her voice. "Right-o. Well, their overall strategies are really good, but there are times when several of their players lose their concentration and get sloppy on the little things." The redhead dipped her head. "Don't all turn at once, but you see the tall blond lad in the grey t-shirt?" Taking turns, they glanced over at the young man in question. "When he moves into a new area, he tends to stand still when he's checking it out. If someone stays on him, you can take him out. Boom."

"What else?" Fred asked, hanging on her every word. He was sitting so far forward in his seat Sarah thought he was going to slip off and flop on his butt.

"The bloke in the ugly blue striped stocking cap?" She shook her head with disgust. "Seriously! Why is he wearing that? It's almost summer!"

"I know, right?" Lizzie said.

"He shouldn't wear it in the winter, either," Bridget added, scrunching her nose.

"Anyway," Curtis said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Anyway, when he's in a dead run, he never checks before going around a corner."

Several sets of eyebrows shot up at that tidbit of information.

"And the guy in plaid shorts is _always_ the one they send to guard the flag. And he _always_ guards it from a window."

"So, Amy. Can you quit your job and come travel Europe with us and be our scout?" Lisa asked with a smile.

She chuckled. "That would be fun, wouldn't it?"

Fred grinned and his knee bounced with excitement. "Let's go play and beat these guys!"

And that's exactly what they did. Using the intel Amy had given them, they exploited the other team members' lapses in fundamentals and swiftly crippled their opponents. The last game turned out to be the easiest victory they'd achieved all day.

The American fans, many of which had stayed and cheered them on throughout the whole tournament, were loud and enthusiastic in their celebrations. After the awards ceremony, one of the Americans—a large balding man whom Sarah would later find out was named Crazy Bob—shouted over the din, "Hey everyone! Let's go over to that square—"

"Leidseplein," his wife patiently informed him.

"Yeah, what she said and find a place to celebrate!"

Another wholehearted cheer rose from the Americans. Sarah's questioning glance sent Chuck's way was returned with a shrug.

"It could get a little crazy," she nearly shouted in his ear over the din.

"Yeah, it might," he replied. "I think it'll be okay, but if it starts getting out of hand, we can just leave. Martie and Megan are going to get tired pretty soon and if Megan gets over-stimulated…"

Sarah's eyes widened as they both glanced to where Megan was currently jumping up and down with excitement. The memory of last Halloween suddenly invaded Sarah's brain. The mania that had overtaken their youngest that night still haunted her. Between the parade through the school her kindergarten class had participated in, the sheer excitement of getting to dress up as a spy and actually go out in public, and trick or treating, Megan was so hyper by the end of the evening, Sarah wasn't sure the little girl would ever recover. She knew they were in trouble when she'd strapped the fake knives on the little spy's ankle before going out trick-or-treating. Megan had literally vibrated with excitement. She'd waited all day to wear them since they weren't allowed at school, and once they were on, it was like she had been launched into orbit. By they time they'd returned home, she was beyond hope. All Sarah and Chuck were able to do was to work to contain the damage Megan could have done to herself and others until she crashed and burned. After a warm bath and Sarah reading her seven chapters of _The Tale of Despereaux_, she finally fell asleep.

"I think it might be smart for both of us to keep a close eye. If we see her starting to get too amped up—"

"—we'll take her back to the apartment," Chuck finished for her.

"If she gets too hyper, I'll just read to her again." Her eyes danced with amusement when she leaned closer to him and said in his ear, "I'll borrow one of your dense fantasy books. The one with all the _epic_ poetry. That's sure to knock her out."

"You wound me and my choice of reading material deeply, Mrs. Bartowski," he retorted. His attempted scowl at her dig was an abject failure, especially when he reached out and tickled her waist. In a flash, they stood toe-to-toe, his arm twisted up behind his back, her hand gently yet firmly clamped over his wrist and her lips on his in a playful kiss.

"God, you're hot," he breathed when she released him from the kiss, but not from their unorthodox yet intoxicating embrace. "I love being married to a ninja."

Sarah waggled her eyebrows at him in response and went in for another kiss.

They grinned against each other's lips when they overheard Amy say to Fred, "Oi! Your uncle and aunt are really…um…quite openly affectionate, aren't they?"

A booming "Ha!" escaped from Fred while Lizzie answered with a grin, "You have _no_ idea."

The kiss ended and Sarah moved her lips to Chuck's ear. "That reminds me. We need to talk to Martie and Megan about being careful about what they say in front of Amy."

"Good thinking," he said. Reluctantly, she released his wrist and turned to stand next to him. Happily, his arm found its way back to her waist and they stood with their arms around each other as they returned their attention to what was going on around them.

Lizzie and Lisa approached the team captain of the rather glum looking Luxembourg team. Lizzie said to him, "You should come. To Leidseplein. You should come."

Surprised, he looked up from the bag he was packing up and said, "Yes?"

"Yeah, all of you should," Lisa said, gesturing to the whole team. The remaining Dutch and Belgian teams who were also preparing to leave looked over at the girls hopefully.

Lizzie smiled and said, "You should come, too. All of you. It'll be fun."

The gamers grinned and worked quickly to finish packing up their belonging.

"Oh boy," Chuck grumbled. "Did you see the looks on those guys' faces when Lizzie and Lisa invited them to come along?"

"I did," Sarah said. "I'm hoping they took it in the spirit I'm sure it was intended, as a friendly invitation. Although I'm working under the assumption they didn't." Blowing out a breath, she said, "We need a plan."

"A plan? For what?"

"Keeping track of all the kids. Even if we tell them to stay right with us, there still are so many people around, it would be easy to lose track of one or more of them."

"Even if we all sit together at dinner?"

"We may not be able to sit together. My guess is that a lot of these places to eat are pretty small. We both know how hard it is to get a big table for a family our size. In most places, it won't even be possible."

He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, you're probably right."

She spotted Casey and Vegas conferring a short distance away. She shouted their names and waved them over to join her and Chuck. Frowning around the unlit cigar in his mouth, Casey instructed Vegas to follow him with a jerk of his head. "What's got your undies in a bunch, Walk—" He glanced around. "Walker?" he asked as they approached.

Ignoring his comment, she called Morgan over to join them as well. When they were all assembled, she said, "I need to give you a quick sitrep. Lizzie and Lisa just invited thirty Dutch, Belgian and Luxembourg guys to come along when we go to Leidseplein. Martie and Megan have already had a busy day and could go from tired to hypersonic at any minute. Fred's 'girlfriend' has suddenly shown up. Curtis always needs eyes on him and Bridget could get lost in the shuffle. We need to make sure every kid is covered for the rest of the evening." It was too bad Barstow was on his way to Berlin. She could have used him.

"Ah hell, Walker," Casey grumbled, his face contorting into grimace. "I don't wanna hang around with these people all night. I was gonna go back to the apartment and relax. I found a copy of _The Seven Samurai_ I was gonna watch."

"I'm sorry, Casey, but we need you to—"

Sarah was interrupted when Crazy Bob stood on a chair and shouted, "Okay everyone. Let's head out! There are a lot of places to eat and drink over there. FYI, I'll be at 'Pancake Corner.'"

Casey twisted around to look at Crazy Bob. "Did he just say 'Pancake Corner'?" he asked, turning back to the group.

"I believe he did," Chuck answered.

"I like pancakes," his demeanor changing from annoyance to interest. "I sometimes eat them as a late night snack."

Vegas spoke up for the first time. "I hear they have some pretty good ribs, too. All you can eat."

"Ribs _and_ pancakes," Casey mused, chewing on his stogie. "Okay, I'll help. For the kids, of course," he said, puffing up his chest with magnanimity.

Sarah held back a smirk, lowered her eyes to the floor and dipped her head. "Of course."

Looking at the protection team, she said, "There are eight kids, counting Amy, and five of us, so we can't cover them one-on-one. Fred and Amy will be together, so one of us can cover both of them." She held up one finger. "With all the guys around, I think Lizzie and Lisa each need their own person on them." She put up two more fingers. "Megan and Martie are always together," she said putting up another finger. She heaved an irritated sigh. "We have still have Bridget and Curtis and only one adult."

Chuck's eyes were pinned on her, and she could see his mind coming up with a solution. "We tell Lizzie and Lisa that have to stay together, no matter what. Casey, they're your responsibility. After the way you handled Brock Thornton at Lizzie's prom, you're the man for the job."

Casey stood tall, threw his shoulders back and growled with determination, "Roger that."

"Lars, you take Fred and Amy. I'm not even sure Amy knows you're part of our group, and Fred's head is so far up in the clouds, he wouldn't notice you if you dressed like Batman and walked right up to him."

"Excellent usage of nerd imagery," Morgan said.

"Thank you," Chuck replied with a smile.

"Affirmative," Vegas said, "I have the Doctor and Amy."

After the agent made his statement, heads tilted and funny looks were exchanged. Shaking it off, Chuck said, "Morgan, do you want to keep an eye on Bridget or Curtis?"

"You know how much I love my girl, but I'm totally up for keeping it real with my boy Bronco tonight," Morgan crowed while slapping a high-five with Chuck.

Sarah gave Morgan a look. "What's the deal with the nicknames? Doctor, Bronco…" She thought for a moment and then narrowed her eyes, "Enforcer." She only grew more determined as she watched Morgan, Casey and Vegas clammed up and stared at her blankly. "I _will_ get to the bottom of this," she warned them. Morgan gulped while the two trained agents didn't flinch. _Morgan's the weak link. I'll get to him later. A flash of Sting should do the trick._

Getting the conversation back on track, Chuck said, "I'll cover Bridget while Sarah takes Martie and Megan. There, everyone's covered."

"And it also means you have the three youngest, who will all stay together anyway, so you and your wife can be together and make googly-eyes at each other."

"Yes, Casey," Chuck said dryly. "I will be both tingly and googly-eyed and not pay any attention to our children."

"That's what I figured," Casey shot back with a smirk. "I'm just going for the pancakes and ribs."

Chuck smiled and started to raise his hand like he was going to give Casey a friendly clap on the back. Apparently reconsidering the idea, he shoved it in his pocket instead.

The kids finished picking up their belonging and wandered over to where the adults were. By then, most of the spectators had left for Leidseplein but unsurprisingly, all the gaming teams were still there, obviously waiting to walk with Lizzie and Lisa. Sarah was never more grateful for her partner's protectiveness of the girls and his overall prickly disposition than she was just then.

Grote Maikel joined the group. "Thank you for a wonderful day," he said, nearly choking with emotion. "It was a privilege to be here with you."

Shaking the big man's hand, Chuck said, "It was an honor for us as well." He looked around the store and said, "We should really stay and help clean up."

"No," Grote Maikel answered. "I have employees who get paid for that.

"At least let us help bring in the equipment from outside," Sarah said.

"No, you have done so much for our store—and me—today. Go eat, drink and celebrate."

They all shook Grote Maikel's hand. "If you are ever in Amsterdam again…

With that, he walked toward the Nerd Herd desk, where the little guy with the straight hair was cleaning his fingernails with the corner of his identification badge and the guy with the crazy blond hair was… staring at his tie.

"I'm hungry. Let's go eat," Curtis said.

Morgan slung his arm over the boy's shoulder and said with a straight face, "I'm shocked, dude."

"Now, before we go, listen up," Chuck started. There were the immediate groans from the older kids. Ignoring their less than enthusiastic response, he continued, "There will be a lot of people down at Leidseplein and we don't want anyone wandering off. Stay with the group. But here's the deal. When we eat, we may not be able to sit at the same table. However, you _will_ have at least one adult with you no matter where sit. Got it?"

They were serenaded with a chorus of halfhearted mumbles. Chuck looked down at his watch. "And don't let the fact that it's still light outside make you think it's earlier than it is. It's already seven-thirty. We're going to dinner, but we won't be out late."

"Ah, come on, Uncle Chuck," Fred said, his voice a hair's breadth from whining. "We won the tournament today. We should get stay out and celebrate."

As a group, the family moved toward the front doors of the store. The rest of the gamers followed them en masse. Sarah noticed that it was now virtually impossible to know which people were from which country. They were all chatting with each other in either Dutch or English with some smatterings of French.

"We _are_ going out to celebrate," Sarah reminded her nephew in a firm voice.

"Besides, kid," Casey said with more than a hint of glee in his voice, "you and your brother have laundry to do tonight."

"_Oh man!_"Fred exclaimed with a grimace. "You're going to make me do that tonight?"

"That was the agreement," Chuck replied.

The large group started down the street. Sarah took Martie's hand with one hand and Megan's in the other. Chuck rested his hand on Bridget's shoulder, and Casey and Vegas walked a step or two behind their charges.

"But Amy's here," Fred said. The whine had fully invaded his voice this time.

"Maybe you can talk her into helping you," Lizzie said with a laugh.

Amy shook her head emphatically. "No way. _I_ didn't fall in a canal. Although I might be talked into watching and commenting on your fluffing and folding skills."

The grin that came over Fred's face nearly split it in two. Sarah knew he was trying to control his excitement and keep it together, but there was a kind of pent-up energy that overtook his demeanor. She had the feeling that if he could, he would throw his fists victoriously into the air, run up and down the street and shout to the heavens, "She said she would watch me fold clothes!"

His petulance had completely disappeared when he said, "You're right, Uncle Chuck. That was the agreement. Folding clothes it is." The grin never left his face.

This time, it was Curtis' turn to release a tortured groan.

~ O ~

Sarah ran the wide-tooth comb through Megan's wet hair until it jerked to a stop when it encountered a tangle. Megan patiently walked Spy Barbie across the counter as her head pulled back and then popped forward over and over as Sarah gently worked at the snarl.

"Martie, you're going to turn into a prune if you stay in the bathtub much longer," Sarah said as the comb finally slipped from the top of Megan's head to the bottom of her long hair without encountering another knot.

"I like being a prune," Martie said with a giggle as she looked at her wrinkled fingertips. She held her pruney fingers out and wiggled them.

"Well, you can't sleep in the tub," Sarah said with a smile, "and it's getting late." Tossing the comb on the counter, she grabbed a towel off the rack and held it open. Martie stepped out over the side of the tub as her aunt enveloped her.

Megan picked up the comb from the counter and pretended to run it through Spy Barbie's long, blonde, synthetic hair. "Will Uncle Chuck be back to say goodnight to us?" she asked.

"Of course," Sarah replied. "He and Uncle Casey just went to the grocery store. They should be back in a few minutes."

"Why did they go? Did we run out of food already?" Martie asked from under the towel as Sarah rubbed her hair dry.

"Mm-hmm. Your brothers discovered _hagelslag _and _ontbijtkoek_. It all disappeared after they came back from McDonald's this morning."

"Boys sure eat a lot," Megan said, putting the comb back on the counter now that Spy Barbie's hair was perfect. "Did you see all the ribs Fred ate?"

"Yeah," Martie answered as she pulled her pajama top on over her head. "But I think Uncle Casey ate the most of everybody."

"He did eat an impressive amount of pancakes." Sarah gently maneuvered Martie to the same position in front of the counter Megan had been in a few minutes before. She started combing out the girl's brown "Bartowski" hair and said, "Pancakes _and_ ribs. I'm not sure I've ever seen Uncle Casey so happy before."

"I'm not sure the boys who were trying to talk to Lizzie and Lisa thought he looked very happy," Martie said as she started to play with Sarah's eyelash curler.

"There were a couple of brave ones that sat at the table even though Uncle Casey was right there," Sarah said. Most of the young men hadn't even dared to approach the girls with their fearsome uncle right with them. They certainly looked nervous, but as Chuck and Sarah discussed from a few tables away, if those two young men were willing endure Casey's presence and scrutiny, they deserved the chance to talk to the girls.

"When we were walking back here, I heard Lizzie tell Amy that the boys that talked to them were really nice. They were from Luxerberg," Martie said.

The corners of Sarah's mouth lifted a tiny bit. "Close, sweetie. It's called Luxembourg."

"Luxembourg," her niece repeated, precisely forming each syllable. Looking up at Sarah in the mirror, she added, "Lisa said their names were Felix and Sebastian."

Megan, now perched cross-legged on top of the closed toilet lid asked, "How come they didn't come back here with us like Amy did?"

"We know Amy now. Besides, I'm not sure that apartment can hold many more people this evening," Sarah said, "especially with Lisa and Lizzie hanging out down there, too."

Martie's eyebrows drew together, clearly pondering something. Staring at the eyelash curler as she used both hands to open and close it she asked, "Do you think Fred will be able to talk Amy into helping him with the clothes?"

Laughing, Sarah said, "Nope. Not a chance. I don't think he'll ask, though." She ran the corner of the comb down the center of Martie's hair to make a part. "He and Curtis are doing their own clothes tonight. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want her looking at his underwear."

Megan scrunched her nose and grimaced. "She shouldn't touch them either. Ew." Martie involuntarily shuddered.

Smiling at their reactions, Sarah put the comb back on the counter and said, "All set." Cooler air rushed into the steamy bathroom when she opened the door. Taking a hand of each freshly scrubbed and pajama'd girl, they walked down the hall to the living room where Bridget was sitting at a corner of the couch, poring over a fashion magazine they'd picked up after dinner. "Are Fred and Amy gonna get married?" the littlest one finally asked.

Sarah managed to stifle a snort. "They're both a little too young to worry about that," she said, keeping her voice light. "They're friends."

Bridget let out a loud guffaw. "I'm not sure she'll want to be his friend after seeing him eat. It was like watching bunch of lions devouring a zebra. Between Fred, Curtis, Uncle Morgan and Agent Vegas all at the same table, I'm not sure how she was able to keep her food down." She shook her head. "Uncle Chuck and I heard them say later that they were having an eating contest. It was disgusting from a distance. I don't know how Amy could stand it sitting right there."

"Maybe she has brothers, too," Martie said, sitting down on the couch next to Bridget, "and know how they eat."

"Maybe she does," Sarah said, taking her place on the couch next to Martie. Megan curled up on her other side. She put her phone on the coffee table, picked up the book that sat there and leaned back. Propping her feet on the edge of the table, she dropped the book in her lap and opened it to the bookmarked page. "Let's see. Where were we?"

"Chester put the steak on top of Bunnicula who's asleep on the kitchen floor," Martie said.

"Right," Sarah said as she scanned the page to where they had left off.

Bridget closed her magazine and set it on the table. She drew her knees up and tucked her feet up under her, ready to listen.

Sarah began to read. "'He dragged the steak across the floor and laid it across the inert bunny. Then with his paws, he began to hit the steak.'

"'"Are you sure this is what they mean, Chester?"'

"'"Am I anywhere near his heart?" he asked.'

"'"It's hard to tell," I said. "All I can really see are his nose—"'"

She stopped reading when a key rattled in the lock and the door opened. Chuck stepped through with an armload of groceries and kicked it closed with his foot. "Hello, ladies. It's story time I see." He went straight for the kitchen to set his load on the counter.

"Here, let me help you," Sarah said, replacing the bookmark and sitting forward, ready to stand up.

"Nope, you stay right there and read. I've got this," he said. She heard sound of items being placed on the counter and the refrigerator door opening and closing.

Happy to comply, she leaned back again and re-opened the book. "'"It's hard to tell," I said. "All I can really see are his nose and his ears. You know, he's really sort of cute."'

"'Chester was—'" She was interrupted this time by the menacing strains of "The Imperial March" coming from her phone.

She heaved a sigh and said, "I'm sorry, girls. I need to answer this."

"It's okay, Aunt Sarah," Megan said. "We understand." Her sisters nodded.

Nodding her thanks, she picked up the phone, stood and put it to her ear. "Good evening, Director Graham."

"Good evening, Agent Walker," came the response. "I need a few minutes of your time. I received your report and I need to discuss a few things with you."

Her stomach tightened. She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that.

"Of course, sir," she said, catching Chuck's eye as he came from the kitchen and mouthing, "Graham." He pointed at himself and raised his eyebrows in question. "Do you need to speak with both Chuck and me?" she asked.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary."

When she shook her head at her husband and then pointed toward their bedroom, he responded with a thumbs up. He took her place on the couch and picked up the book. As she climbed the stairs and closed the door behind her, she heard Chuck read, "'Chester was getting that glint in his eyes again. He was pounding away at the steak—'"

Sarah walked over to her side of the bed and propped her back against the pillows. "I hope everything is in order," she said. Her mind whirled as she thought about the report she'd submitted the night before. She'd written it after her and Chuck's hot session in the bedroom, and while her brain had been slightly muddled, she was sure she hadn't written, "Sarah 'hearts' Chuck" or "Chuck Bartowski's a stud." While both statements were true, she knew she had kept enough awareness to keep the report professional.

"Yes, it is," Graham said. "First, I want to congratulate you, Major Casey and Mr. Bartowski on securing the bioweapon. Scientists are already working on it to learn who developed it and to find ways to neutralize this new version of it."

"I'm glad to hear that, sir. And Goya?"

"News of his capture is filtering its way through the international community. We are watching Costa Gravas closely and expect Victor Lazaro to reveal himself soon. The balance of power should shift soon after."

"Understood. What about Ugarte? Do we know what happened to him? Or the money?"

"We haven't recovered the money nor do we expect to. As for Ugarte, he was found the next morning about two miles downstream from the bridge he jumped from. He had a bullet in his brain."

She sucked in a breath. "Director, I didn't do that. I never fired a shot at him. I was hoping the authorities would find him alive and question him. I'm sure he had more information on Benoit than he was willing to give me on the bridge."

"Which is why he's dead. We're sure one of Benoit's people 'plugged that leak' as it were."

Sarah blew out a frustrated breath. "I'm sorry, Director. We don't seem to be getting any closer to finding Benoit." _Or Chuck's parents for that matter,_ she thought.

"On the contrary, Agent Walker, the information Mr. Gautier gave you regarding Benoit's shell corporation is the most promising lead we've had in some time. Our analysts are working with it as we speak."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said.

"We also received the software patch Mr. Bartowski wrote for Project Sun Ray. Please tell your husband that it is being deployed immediately."

"I'll tell him. He'll be pleased and relieved." That reminded her of something. "Has Trevor Kingston been located? Did Fletcher give him up?"

"No, unfortunately, Kingston hasn't been apprehended. Fletcher has not been very cooperative with MI-6."

That bit of news didn't surprise her. "I was hoping they would be able to arrest him so he wouldn't keep targeting Sun Ray."

"MI-6 is confident they'll eventually be able to persuade Fletcher to cooperate. However, since you and Agent Chalmers worked together in capturing Fletcher and Androkos, and in the spirit of cooperation and international relations, MI-6 has agreed to allow us to 'interview' Mr. Fletcher in a week or so if he hasn't." He paused for effect and then said, "The specter of Guantanamo Bay tends to put people into a more compliant mood."

"I'm sure," she said. She still wondered if there was a connection between Benoit and Kingston since Benoit's thumb drives had been encrypted so that Project Sun Ray wouldn't work on them. It was frustrating. Benoit's name and influence seemed to be everywhere, but the man himself was practically invisible.

"Do you have any contacts to make in Amsterdam?" Graham asked.

"Unfortunately, no. Agent Chalmers promised to keep his ears open regarding Benoit, so I'll be contacting him in a day or two to see if he has anything for me."

"Very good. And of course, we'll contact you if we get any new information."

"Yes, sir."

"Finally—"

_Uh-oh. Here it comes._

"I must admit that I wasn't very happy when General Beckman came to me before the Paris mission with Major Casey's specs and learned that Mr. Bartowski—an informally trained 'agent' and the Agency's best cryptographer—was to be included by running ops from the van. At the time, she assured me that Major Casey would not have allowed him to be part of the team unless he deemed it critical to the success of the mission. Reflecting on my own knowledge of how _protective_ you are of your husband, I _knew_ you wouldn't put him in a position where he could be injured. Reluctantly, I gave my permission. Now, after reading your report—and the one submitted by Major Casey to General Beckman—I can now freely admit I'm glad I did. His computer expertise was clearly a huge benefit and I commend his quick thinking and bravery when confronted with a hostile situation. Please pass on along to him my compliments and regards."

Sarah blinked a couple of times and fought the urge to pull the phone away from her ear to stare at it in disbelief. "Thank you, sir. I'll be sure and tell him." She swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "I'm really proud of him, too," she said, her voice softening.

"As you should be. Now, do you have anything for me before I head off for my meeting?" the director asked.

"No, sir. I think we've covered everything."

"Alright, then, Agent Walker. Let me know what you hear from Agent Chalmers in couple of days." And with that, the call ended.

She dropped the phone on the bed. As excited as she was to tell Chuck how pleased Graham was with him and his work during the mission, she was more eager to _show_ how proud _she_ was of him.

~ O ~

Sarah sat with her back against her pillow, her legs bent under the covers of the bed and a book propped open on her lap. She had read the same paragraph four times, but she still didn't know what it said. The image of the excitement and pride on their girls' faces when she told them and Chuck what Director Graham had said about him kept invading her mind. At the news, the girls had squealed with delight, thrown their arms around his neck and kissed his cheeks. Megan was particularly impressed and had solemnly intoned that "Uncle Chuck was a real spy now, too." When Lizzie and Lisa heard the news after returning to the apartment, they grinned and hugged him as well. It had taken a while after that to get everyone calmed down and in bed, but the girls had finally settled in for the night.

Concentrating on the page, she started the paragraph again. She only made it through the first sentence before she started to wonder what was taking Chuck so long in the bathroom. Sighing, she closed the book and put it on the nightstand. She was about to throw back the covers and go look for him when she heard his bare feet pad up the steps and toward their room.

Her eyes widened when he walked into the room with a grin on his face and a tray in his hands. He put the tray on the bed, turned back to the door and closed and locked it. "Just like home," he said, sitting down on the bed next to her. "They can knock."

"Chuck, where did you get…" Her words drifted away. She was completely mesmerized as she watched him pick up a champagne bottle and fill two tall flutes on the tray. In the quiet, she could hear it effervesce. He handed one flute to her, which she accepted with a smile. A sweet tone hung in the air when he touched his glass to hers. Their eyes locked as they sipped the bubbly. The dry, slightly sweet drink was delicious and she already felt almost giddy as the bubbles danced across her tongue.

"What's the occasion?" she asked before taking another sip.

He shrugged. "Who knows what the next city's sleeping arrangements will be? I'm going to take advantage of having a room to ourselves and celebrate of every moment I have alone with you."

His voice was so sincere, his face so open, his words so heartfelt, she could barely breathe. Her eyes filled as she leaned into him and gave him a gentle kiss. "You're so sweet and I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too." He smiled and said, "Are you ready for a treat?"

She nodded eagerly and took a deep breath as he pulled the tray closer. The sweet aroma of ripe strawberries filled the air. "Strawberries and Nutella. I wanted to get chocolate covered strawberries, but the store didn't have any," he bounced his eyebrows for emphasis, "so I improvised."

"I like how you think outside the box," she said, eyeing the fruit and chocolate spread. "I hope Lizzie doesn't mind if we eat some of her Nutella."

"We can always get more. Ready to experiment?"

An eyebrow arched.

He jerked and sat up straight. "Oh! Erm, that didn't sound right, did it?" he said, his face flushing crimson.

"You're almost the same color as the strawberries," she said with a chuckle. Taking pity on him, she laid a hand on the side of his face and said, "I'm ready."

He smiled and slumped with relief. Scooting back so that he was sitting next to her against the pillows, she could see him brimming with excitement. "Taste experiments is what I meant." He picked up a strawberry and held it for her to bite. Her gaze held his as she wrapped her lips around the fruit and bit down. The sweetness of the strawberry exploded in her mouth and she couldn't help but let out a happy moan.

His eyes danced with delight at her reaction. Wordlessly, he ate the rest of the strawberry and dropped the green, leafy stem on the tray. "Strawberry _au naturel_ is our control."

She couldn't stop the smile that came at his nerdy enthusiasm. How he continued to be more and more adorable, she didn't know. But he never ceased to be. "Okay. What's next?" she asked.

He took another strawberry from the bowl and held it up for her to bite. "This time, take a sip of champagne and see if it changes the flavor of either or both."

She did as instructed. "The strawberry changed," she said. Smiling, she snatched it from Chuck's fingers before he could eat it, and finished it off with more champagne following. "I had to be sure."

He schooled his features and nodded with mock solemnity. "It's good to be thorough." He took his turn experimenting with the same combination. "You're right. It changes the fruit."

"Now," he said, unscrewing the lid from the Nutella jar and picking up the spoon from the tray, "we change a variable."

Their champagne glasses were empty, so Sarah picked up the bottle and refilled each while Chuck dipped the spoon into the gooey hazelnutty chocolate and scooped out a glob. He slathered it on a strawberry and offered it to her. She eagerly bit it. It was incredible. Her eyes widened at the sheer wonderfulness of the melding of textures and flavors. "It's better than regular chocolate," she said, taking the spoon from his fingers to add another dollop of Nutella before she finished the rest of the berry.

Now that she had the spoon, she picked up another piece of fruit from the bowl and covered it. When she held it to his lips, he smiled and ate it all in one bite. As he chewed, his eyes rolled back and he groaned with pleasure. "I think we have a winner."

She nodded slowly and gazed at the little blob of Nutella on his lip. "You have a little…" She gently swept her thumb across the bit of chocolate. When she licked it off her thumb with her tongue, Chuck stilled and stared, blinking rapidly.

With a wicked glint in her eye, she scooped more spread from the jar and swiped the glob onto her finger from the spoon. She closed her lips around her finger and held it there.

The rapid blinking stopped, but the staring continued. She slowly slid the finger from her mouth, her eyes on her husband the entire time.

Trancelike, he slowly raised his finger to the corner of his mouth and mumbled, "You have a little…"

"Could you get it for me?"

There was an almost imperceptible nod as he moved his finger toward her lip.

"Mmm-mmmm," she hummed, shaking her head a tiny bit.

His Adam's apple slid up and down his throat when he gulped. "Wha—?"

In a sultry voice, she said, "Think outside the box."

He seemed to come to his senses when a little smile appeared. Slowly, he moved his face closer to hers. Her breath hitched when the tip of his tongue played at the corner of her mouth. This time, it was her turn to go completely still.

Never moving away from her, Chuck blindly shifted his hand around until it touched the Nutella jar and then stuck his finger inside. He traced the chocolate covered finger down her neck from just below her ear to her collarbone. "You have a little…" he mumbled against her lips. She let her head fall to the side to give him better access as his tongue trailed up and down her neck.

Heart hammering away in her chest, she reached out toward the tray and nearly knocked over one of the champagne flutes. Her hand landed in the bowl of strawberries and taking one, she dipped it directly into the jar of gooey chocolate heaven. As she used it like a paintbrush over Chuck's skin, she said, "We're going to need to buy Lizzie a new jar of Nutella."

~ O ~

An annoying, far away noise crept its way into Sarah's sleep. It dragged her into unwilling consciousness, especially when the wakefulness was accompanied by that special kind of headache that came with a little too much champagne. She just wished the irritating ringing would stop. Through the fog in her brain, she realized it was a phone. Eyes still firmly squeezed shut, she rolled away from Chuck and threw a hand on the nightstand. She accidently knocked her book onto the floor before her hand settled on top of her phone. Tipping the screen toward her, she pried one eye open and was surprised to see that it didn't show anything.

Dropping the phone back on the nightstand, she rolled back toward Chuck and flopped an arm across his chest. "Chuck, answer your phone," she said, her voice raspy with sleep.

She felt him roll away from her slightly and then heard things falling over on his nightstand as he searched unseeing for his phone. He rolled back toward her and dropped his hand on her arm. "It's not my phone."

The haze started to fade quickly, particularly when she lifted her head up to look at him and her brain bounced around against her skull. Her eyes completely open now, she said, "If it's not either one of our phones, then where is that ringing coming from?" She sat up and moved her head around, trying to pinpoint the location of the sound. She realized it was coming from the corner of the bedroom. Squinting in that direction, she saw in the early morning light the chair where her purse and clothes were strewn. Throwing the sheets back, she slid out of bed, padded across the room and stood in front of the chair. As the ringing continued, she picked up pieces of clothing and dropped them to the floor. Grabbing her purse, she lifted it to her ear and listened. The ringing got louder.

She walked back to the bed and sat down, the purse set in front of her. She started lifting things out of the bag and tossing them on the bed. The main compartment was empty and the ringing continued. Scowling, she opened the side pocket that she rarely used since it only contained a couple of notepads and some pens. When she looked inside, in the corner was a small, cheap flip phone.

She could feel her shoulders tighten as she lifted the ringing phone from her purse. _What the hell?_ Chuck, now also fully awake, sat up. "Sarah, what is it?"

They both stared at the strange phone—still incessantly ringing—lying in the palm of her hand.


	26. Here, There and Everywhere

**A/N the first:** As this story moves past the 200k word count, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has come along me on this journey. I thank you for the time you've invested in reading, as well as leaving reviews and comments, PMing and tweeting, sending up smoke signals and tapping out Morse code on the pipes. The feedback and encouragement is always appreciated and welcomed.

Thank you as always to **AgentInWaiting** for betaing this chapter and helping with story elements.

Thank you, Google Maps.

**Chapter 26 – Here, There and Everywhere**

Chuck and Sarah sat on the bed staring at the ringing disposable cell phone lying on her open palm. "How'd this get in my purse?"

He shrugged and said, "I have no idea. Maybe somebody put in there by accident?"

"Maybe. I doubt it."

"I guess there's really only one way to find out."

She took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. Random disposable cell phones covertly slipped into bags of CIA agents by unknown persons rarely turned out well for said agents. But short of removing the battery or snapping the phone in half, she was sure it was going to keep ringing until she answered. So, in one swift motion, she flipped the phone open and put it up by her ear. She held it so Chuck could listen in, too. His head leaned against hers as their ears hovered over the earpiece.

_Here goes nothing_. "Hello?" she said.

"Good morning," a deep, distorted voice said. She felt a spurt of adrenaline at the sound of the electronically modulated voice. "You found the phone."

"Yes." She didn't like being caught off guard like this. Going on the offensive, she asked, "Who are you? What do you want? Why are you contacting me?"

The voice at the other end chuckled. "So many questions. Don't worry. I have no evil intentions toward you and only want to help."

"How can you help me?"

"I have information about a certain person you are looking for."

Both hers and Chuck's eyebrows shot up and they cut their eyes toward each other. "Who am I looking for?" she asked. She wasn't going to give this person anything.

"I won't answer that over the phone. He has eyes and ears everywhere. The burner phones and voice modulator are to protect my identity in case there is anyone listening in."

That made sense. Benoit had the reputation of having half of European law enforcement on his payroll. So far, she hadn't heard anything that made her feel like she needed to hang up and throw the phone into the canal. "What do you propose?"

"You and your husband are to go to the floating flower market on Singel canal and a buy dozen red tulip bulbs from the seventh stall from the street. You will then be given further instructions."

"No!" she said immediately and forcefully. "No way is my husband going to be there." Chuck pulled his head away and gave her a confused look. "I'll go," he whispered.

She scowled back and mouthed, "No."

He frowned and put his head back next to hers to continue listening.

"Then we have a problem. I know you're going to want backup with you. And I have no problem with that. But unfortunately, your partner—the large one—will do nothing but draw attention to you. He looks too much like a cop. You and your husband, on the other hand, will simply be two tourists at the Bloemenmarkt."

Huffing out an annoyed breath, she said, "How do I know this isn't a trap?"

"You don't, but it's not. I can tell you that over and over, but you won't believe me. As I've already said, given the person of interest to both of us, these security measures are more for my protection than yours."

"What if I come alone?" Sarah asked.

Chuck pulled his head back again and scowled. "No!" he whisper-shouted.

"I hear your husband agrees with me," the caller said. Sarah wasn't sure if it was even possible, but the voice sounded amused even through the distortions. "You should listen to him. If you come alone, you won't get the information. It's as simple as that. It's up to you." The call abruptly ended.

She slapped the phone closed and threw it on the bed. Pushing her hands through her hair in frustration, she said, "What am I supposed to do?" Feeling jumpy, she slid off the bed and started to pace around the tiny room. After having to step over the tray strewn with strawberry stems and the empty champagne bottle and Nutella jar a few times, she picked it up off the floor and set it at the foot on the bed. Despite her agitated state, she couldn't stop the little smile that curled at the corners of her mouth. _God, that was fun_.

"Look, Sarah. I get why you don't want me going with you. But you can't let an opportunity like this go by. Tracking Benoit down is the main reason we're here. If me going along to the flower market will help you do that, then I'll go."

Coming to standstill, she rested her hands on her hips and considered him from under hooded eyelids. He was right. This was the biggest break they'd had since they'd arrived in Europe.

"I did okay on the mission in Paris," he pointed out. "Even Graham said so."

Sighing, she walked around to her side of the bed and sat down again, facing him. "You did more than okay. You did great." Smiling, she reached out and picked at the odd bit of dried Nutella in his hair. "I don't want to keep putting you into these situations where you could get hurt."

"I know." He shrugged, his face placid. "Face it, honey. I'm married to you and you're a spy and we're _both_ involved in the spy world. This _will_ keep coming up."

Nodding, she brushed her fingers through his hair and then dropped her hand to her lap. "I'm not a very good spy if some random person can put a phone in my purse and I don't even notice." She lowered her gaze to the jumble of twisted sheets and blankets of the unmade bed.

His response was swift. "Hey, that's not fair and you know it," he said in a tone that was firm yet gentle. He took her hand in both of his and softly rubbed the top of it with his thumb. "We were around literally hundreds of people yesterday. Someone could have slipped it in your purse at the Hard Rock Café, or at the tournament. You didn't have it right next to you during the games. How could you? Or it could have happened at dinner last night at Leidseplein." With a finger, he lifted her chin. When she looked into his eyes, she didn't see disappointment or blame. There was only understanding and love. "Give yourself a break."

Still feeling pretty miserable, she swallowed hard and replied softly, "Okay."

Leaning forward, he kissed her tenderly. As he sat back, he blurted out, "Oh!" He blinked a couple of times. "The phone being put into your purse had to have happened sometime yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, so?" Sarah could almost see a blinking light bulb over his head. "What are you thinking?"

"If this mysterious person with the creepy voice had something diabolical in mind for us, don't you think he or she would have done the deed then, when they were so close to us?"

"Maybe. But there were a lot of people around and we were in a very public place."

"But the flower market is public, too," he countered. "It's not any different then the kinds of places we were going to yesterday."

"That's true." Sitting up straighter, she added, "And why call us today and essentially warn us? Why go through this crazy cloak and dagger stuff at all?"

"Right. It seems like they've made it harder for themselves if he or she want to trap us somehow."

Sarah nodded thoughtfully. "We'll have to stay alert, though. And we'll be armed."

"Of course," he said, bouncing his eyebrow. "I prefer it when you are." After a moment he asked, "I take it we're going then?"

"Like you said, it's too good of an opportunity to pass up." Brimming with nerves and excitement, she said, "Let's go buy some bulbs."

The words had barely left her lips when they heard a raised voice from the kitchen say, "Hey! Who took my Nutella?"

~ O ~

After consulting a map on Chuck's phone and seeing that the Bloemenmarkt was only a half-mile away from their apartment, they decided to walk to the rendezvous point. Hand-in-hand, they set off. Their route first took them down a narrow, cobbled street past cafés with colorful awnings and tables and chairs set out on the sidewalks. There was really no automobile traffic to speak of, and they only had to keep an eye out for bicyclists.

Before they had left, Sarah called Casey and filled him in on the mysterious phone call and told him where she and Chuck were going. While he seemed less than thrilled that he wasn't allowed to go as backup, he eventually agreed that it was a great opportunity to gain intel on Benoit and would pass on her plans to their superiors.

"What are the chances that the girls will be ready to go sightseeing once we get back?" Chuck asked as they walked down the narrow lane. Not wanting to leave the girls alone in the apartment, Casey had been drafted to keep an eye on them while they were gone.

"I'm sure they'll be ready, as long as Martie doesn't try to talk Casey into braiding her hair again." After glancing around to ensure they weren't being followed, she grinned up at him and said, "Hey, you never told me what happened when you carried the tray to the kitchen."

He studied her with an amused look. "I still say you cheated."

"Cheated!" she laughed. Playfully slapping him on the arm with her free hand, she asked, "How could I have possibly cheated at 'Rock, Paper, Scissors?'"

When the narrow lane ended at a canal, they turned left and walked along the waterway.

"I don't know, but I'll figure it out one of these days." When she smirked and popped an eyebrow up and down, he pointed at her and exclaimed, "Aha! You did cheat."

"I'll never tell," she stated. "Now, tell me what happened."

"Fortunately for me, Martie and Bridget were busy going through their suitcases looking for clothes, so they didn't see me sneak into the kitchen with it. Unfortunately for Lizzie, she caught me red handed." Sarah grinned at his hearty laugh. "The expressions her face went through after she saw the strawberry stems and her empty Nutella jar were priceless. After the initial shock, there was confusion, then understanding, which was quickly followed by horror and disgust. She kinda looked like she just drank sour milk. We promised to never speak of it again."

"Aw, poor Lizzie," she said. She really did feel bad for their eldest. She and Chuck tried to be discreet, but this time they got caught.

She felt him gently squeeze her hand. "She'll be okay. No teenager wants to know what his or her parents do, that's true. But I think once she gets past the 'ick factor,' deep down she's happy for us."

"This was just a little TMI," Sarah said.

Chuck's face exploded with a grin. "Look at you, being all cool. Next thing you know, you'll be talking like a 'lolcat.'"

Not knowing what that meant, she'd try to remember to Google it later. She felt safe, though, in assuming she wouldn't want to talk like any kind of cat. "Don't count on it," she said. That seemed to be the right answer since his grin remained.

When they reached Leidestraat, they turned right. It was a much busier street, so they had to keep a sharp eye out for delivery trucks and trams they encountered along the way. Sarah's previously relaxed and playful demeanor disappeared once the number of people and vehicles surrounding them increased. Going into protective spy mode, she continuously scanned the area as they walked. Chuck sensed her obvious tension and remained quiet. After another five minutes, they reached the floating flower market.

Sarah slowed their pace as her eyes surveyed the area. It was just as it was called. There were fifteen houseboats or so lined along the canal selling flowers, bulbs, seeds, green plants and even herbs. The entire area was filled with vibrant colored flowers. They walked along the street, counting the houseboats until they arrived at the seventh. At the front of the store, bunches of cut flowers of all kinds of colors and varieties stood for sale in buckets of water. Flowers still in pots sat on tables ready to be purchased and planted in gardens.

Sarah tightened her grip on Chuck's hand as they walked into the houseboat proper. Had she not been so distracted by the fact that there was no back exit to the store other than blasting a hole in the back wall with her gun and jumping into the canal, she would have found the smell of the flowers wonderfully intoxicating. As it was, she simply wanted to buy the bulbs as they were told, meet with the mystery person with the creepy voice and go back to the apartment.

They explored the store until they found where the bulbs were kept. Like a large checkerboard, loose bulbs of every different size, shape and color were stored in large, flat-sized rectangular boxes, each inclined for better display. A card with the name of the flower and a picture of what it would look like when it bloomed stood up at the back of each box.

There were an astounding number of choices. "Sarah, there're like five different kinds of red tulip. What if we don't pick the right one?"

"I don't know," she said. "The creepy voice didn't say anything about that and we sure didn't know to ask." Wanting to get out of the literal box they were in, she said, "Hopefully it won't matter." She found a small paper bag, opened it and handed it to Chuck. He held it open while she dropped in twelve "Red Riding Hood" tulip bulbs.

"Red Riding Hood, huh? Very droll, Mrs. Bartowski. Hoping to take the Big Bad Wolf out with an ax?" he asked with a small smile.

Her eyes flashed with determination. "Something like that."

They went to the register to make their purchase. When the gentleman behind the counter said something to them in Dutch, Sarah said, "_Spreekt u Engels?_"

"Of course," he said. "I'm sorry. I assumed you were locals. You don't look like tourists."

"We'll take that as a compliment," Chuck said with a smile, slipping his arm around his wife's waist.

Sarah handed the man the bag across the counter. When he peered down into it, she noticed his eyebrows rose. "I see you've chosen a dozen red tulip bulbs."

"Does that mean something to you?" Sarah asked.

"I was told when an American couple—a beautiful blonde and her handsome husband—comes in to buy what you have, I was to give them something. That is you, yes?"

"Yes," Sarah said, her nerves kicking into to overdrive. "What do you have for us?"

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers, took out a folded piece of paper and handed it to her. Before she opened it, she asked, "Can you tell us anything about the person who gave you this note. Do you know him or her?"

"He was young Dutch fellow, in his mid-twenties. I'm sorry, but it was the one and only time I ever saw him."

"It was worth asking. Thank you," she said, shrugging. As the man rang up their purchase, Sarah unfolded the paper. Her brow knit when she saw a name and address in cramped, scribbled handwriting. "It says 'Het Gulden Vlies.' There's an address," she said, showing the paper to Chuck.

"In English, it means, 'The Golden Fleece,'" the man informed them.

"I can look it up how to get there on my phone," Chuck said, reaching behind him to take it from his pocket.

"It's easy to get there from here," the proprietor said politely. "It is only about a kilometer north and should take you no more than fifteen minutes to walk." He handed her the bag and her change and pointed to his right. "Take the main street across the Signel canal to Kalverstraat until you reach the Dam. The street you are looking for is one block east of the National Monument."

"Thank you. You've been very helpful," Sarah said. "_Dank u_."

He smiled and gave her a small bow. _"Veel geluk."_

They walked off the houseboat and back onto the street. Folding the bag down as far as she could, she stuffed it in her purse and put her sunglasses back on. "I wonder why he wished us luck," she mused.

"Maybe it's like saying goodbye," Chuck offered.

"Maybe," she answered absently. Once out of the store, she could feel her irritation level rise. "We're back to square one. No, actually it's worse than that. Now we're told to go that way," she said pointing to the north, "when Casey, Morgan and the kids are that way," she finished, pointing southeast. Crossing her arms, she said, "Even if our mystery person is at this Golden Fleece place and we get to talk to him, it will be at least another hour before we get back to the apartment."

"I'll text Casey and see if he, Morgan and Vegas are willing to take the kids to NEMO without us." He took out his phone and sent a quick text.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? They'd have to take the tram."

"The kids are pros at public transportation now. And Casey and Morgan took care of them when we were on our honeymoon."

"That's true. The kids do seem to respond to Casey's unique style of combining boot camp and babysitting."

His phone blinged, announcing a text had arrived. Reading it, he said, "Casey says Amy's there, too, and would be happy to help with keeping track of the younger kids." With a chuckle he added, "I'm sure Fred will keep track of Amy."

"I'm sure," she deadpanned. "We continue on in our quest to track down the creepy voice?"

"Yeah, I think so. The kids are taken care of. We'll catch up with them at some point. Can I see the paper with the address again? I want to put it in my phone."

She held it out for him as he typed the address in. He pointed at another word written off by itself toward the bottom of the page. "It says, 'Faire.' I wonder what that means."

Her only response was a shrug.

Once he'd entered the address in and the map came up, she lifted her sunglasses to look at it. "It's at the western edge of the Red Light District."

"The Red Light…?" He looked more than little nervous.

"Chuck, it's fine," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "Not every place in the Red Light District is a brothel. There're restaurants and shopping. There're a number of historical things in the area, too. My guess is The Golden Fleece is a clothes boutique."

"Oh, good." She watched his whole body relax. "I'm not sure I'm up to, um, certain women trying to talk to, um…"

_He's so adorable when he's flustered._ "Sweetie, I'm armed and very dangerous. If anyone like that tries to talk to my husband, she's going to have to get through me and my _very_ sharp knives. They'd better be careful. The Nasty Knife hasn't been unsheathed in a while." Lacing her fingers through his, she tugged at his hand to get him walking.

She flashed him a brilliant grin when she heard him sigh, "God, you're hot."

~ O ~

Their route north took them up a narrow, brick lined pedestrian-only street populated with clothing and shoe stores, perfume shops, bookstores, and eateries. Had they not been so focused on getting to their destination, they could have easily spent the rest of the morning shopping and exploring.

However, now that it was growing closer to lunchtime, everywhere they went seemed to get busier and more crowded, and Kalverstraat was no exception. The street was packed with people. Chuck and Sarah kept a firm grasp on each other's hands as they walked with the flow of the crowd up the street.

Sarah remained watchful and looked for signs that they were being followed. On three different occasions, she stopped them under the pretense of looking in a store window. She was actually sweeping the area to see if anyone else stopped at the same time. Since no one seemed to be paying any attention to them, they continued on.

It was a great relief when they emerged from the tunnel-like row of buildings along the street to the openness of the Dam Square. The square itself was plenty crowded as they walked through it, past the tall World War II monument and found the street they were looking for.

"This is more like an alley than a street," Chuck said as they dodged out of the way when a delivery truck rumbled past them. "It should be right along here," he said, checking the numbers on the front of the buildings as they walked past.

They were just about to walk into a less industrial looking section of the street when a yellow triangular hanging sign above a door caught her eye. The sign had the words, "Het Gulden Vlies" in stylized Greek lettering painted on it. It was the word above those that made her stop dead in her tracks right in the middle of the sidewalk.

Chuck stopped next to her. "Sarah, what is it?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

She tore her eyes away from the sign and looked at him. "Read that, Chuck," she said, tipping her head in the general direction of the sign.

A confused look came over his face, but he did as she asked. Watching him closely, she knew exactly when he read _the_ word on the sign. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his mouth dropped open. A stunned "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh" was the only sound that came from him. After a moment, he managed to lift his hand enough to point and said, "Does that say…?"

"Mm-hmm. It says, 'Condomerie.'"

"And they sell…"

They slowly approached the store and peered through the front window. Three rows of unfurled and air filled condoms hung from fishing line strung from one side of the window to the other. The clear ones were filled part way with different brightly colored liquids. Interspersed amongst the clear were colored ones, making for rather festive decorations. To Sarah, they kind of looked like Christmas tree ornaments. "Condoms," she finally finished for him.

His whole head flared beet red. How the collar of his shirt wasn't scorched black, she had no idea. "Sarah, I can't go in there."

"Why not? They sell condoms." Eyeing him, she said, "I happen to know that you've bought them before."

"Well, yeah, at the grocery store, at the bottom of the cart under the boxes of cereal and gallons of milk."

She turned him toward her so they faced each other. Reaching up to straighten his collar, she could almost feel the heat radiating from his neck. Resting her hands on his chest, she said, "Look. We're a married American couple in Amsterdam and we're out on an adventure in the Red Light District. No one cares what we do."

He gulped, nervously looked through the window into the store and then back to her. Giving him an encouraging smile, she said, "Maybe our mystery person works here. We talk to them, get the information on Benoit and we're done. Then we can meet up with the kids and have a nice afternoon."

The redness in his face began to lessen and she saw his tension ease. "You don't believe that's going to be what happens now, do you?"

She ducked her chin and raised her eyes to look at him over the top of her sunglasses. "Honestly? No. But you know what? Except for the stress of making sure we're not being followed or going to get kidnapped, I've had a wonderful time spending the morning with you."

He reached around and laced his fingers at the small of her back. Pulling her closer, he said, "I agree. It has been a great morning." Smiling, he added, "If you don't count the mysterious phone call with the creepy voice."

With excitement edging into her voice, she said, "So, we go in there to see what happens next? You're with me?"

Like a pall lifting, the lingering apprehension cleared from his face. His voice was deep and sure when he looked into her eyes and said, "I'm always with you. I always will be."

There was no one in the world who could disarm her the way he could. After blinking a couple of times to combat the sting at the back of her eyes, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him. When she moved her hand to the side of his face, she felt his hands press harder on her back.

A group of young men walked past. Laughter broke out amongst them when one of them said something in Dutch to the kissing couple.

"I don't know any Dutch," Chuck said when their kiss ended, "but I think one of them just said we'd better get inside this store and make a purchase."

Lowering herself, she laughed and answered, "I think you're right. Ready, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Ready, Mrs. Bartowski."

Hand-in-hand, they entered the shop. A wide assortment of products was displayed on tables and shelves throughout the store. She had to admit that she was both surprised and impressed by the different colors, sizes and shapes available, as well as the different other kinds of "supplies".

At first, it was clear Chuck was still a bit hesitant about being inside the store, but he soon shook off his inhibitions. Nearly tripping over her as he craned his neck when he walked past a particular display, he said, "I find the Statue of Liberty a bit disturbing… and not particularly, ah, practical. I would think the torch would—" he gestured vaguely with his hands.

"I get it, honey," she said with a chuckle. She enjoyed his sudden enthusiasm and interest. "I think we could put that one safely in the 'novelty' category."

He smiled. "Form over function?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I guess the elephant would go into that category, too, then. Between the big ears," he held his hands out to the sides of his head, "the tusks," he added, moving his hands to his mouth and sticking his index fingers out, "and the trunk…" Grinning, he finished by putting his arm straight out in front of him and waving it up and down it like an elephant's trunk.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with an arched eyebrow. "It might be fun to see…" Her voice trailed off. She smiled when he stumbled next to her.

They meandered their way through the store to the counter. "_Spreekt u Engels?_" Sarah asked a fortyish year old woman with thin, blonde hair.

"Yes," she answered with a wide smile. "How can I help you?" Looking at Chuck, she asked, "Are you here to be measured for a custom fitting?"

Chuck's sudden snorting and gagging quickly turned into a coughing fit. Alarmed, the woman behind the counter asked, "Is he okay?"

Sarah rubbed his back as he coughed into one hand and held the other up to the woman indicating he was okay. "I'm good," he croaked, his eyes watering.

"You sure?" Sarah asked. They would laugh about the woman's question later, but right now, she was concerned for his well-being. She felt better when he sucked in a lungful of air and cleared his throat.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he nodded and said, "I'm fine now. Continue."

Seeing that he was okay, Sarah returned her attention to the woman. "A friend of ours wrote the name and address of this shop on a piece of paper and told us we should visit." She took the paper from her purse and held it out for the woman to see. "We're not sure what this word might mean."

The woman squinted at the paper and pointed at the word off by itself. "Faire. That is a brand we carry." She came around from behind the counter and hurried toward a shelf full of boxes. Moving her finger back and forth as she scanned the shelves, she repeated the word over and over quietly to herself. "Ah! Yes. Here it is." She took a purple box from the shelf and handed it to Sarah.

"Um, wow. That's a big box," Chuck said.

_All this is so weird_. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" Sarah asked the woman.

"Of course," she said and walked back to the counter.

Lowering her voice, Sarah said, "Chuck, what are we supposed to do? Should we buy these? We didn't get any instructions from the creepy voice."

He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. "I don't know. I don't think the woman behind the counter is the person we're looking for." He looked around the store. "And everyone else in here is concentrating on their own purchases."

She glanced down at the box in her hand and then back to Chuck. "The last time we were at a store, we got another clue when we bought something. I think this is what we're supposed to get." She shook her head. It simply made no sense.

When they arrived back at the counter, the woman who had been helping them was busy with other customers. A man about the same age as the woman walked out from a back room and came to the counter to help them. Sarah noticed a change in the man when he saw the box in her hand. "Are you Americans?" he asked.

"Yes, we are," she said, studying him closely. Had they finally found the owner of the creepy voice and the information on Benoit? She really hoped so.

He nodded. "A young man came here yesterday and told me if an American couple came in here today and bought a box of that brand of condoms, I was to give them something. Are you them?"

Chuck's hand on her shoulder tightened. "Yes, we are," he answered this time.

The man handed him a business card. Chuck took and held it for both of them to see. The card was for "Restaurant ANNA" with a phone number and address. On the front of the card, "12 noon" was written in pen. Pointing at the name, Sarah said, "It's the same street we're on right now."

"Yes, Restaurant ANNA is just up the street," the man said as he worked the cash register.

"Twelve noon." Chuck looked at his watch. "That's in ten minutes."

"I guess that's where we go next," Sarah said, taking the bag from the man. Crazy wasn't even beginning to describe this whole thing anymore. But, as they'd come this far, they might as well keep going. "Maybe this time?"

Chuck wafted his palms and shrugged. "It would make sense. The creepy voice can talk to us at lunch."

"Thank you," Sarah said to the man as they turned to leave. Once out of the store, they turned right and walked the short distance to the restaurant. Entering through the glass double doors, they stopped at the reservation podium. "Hello," Chuck said, to the young woman staffing it. "We were told to come here at noon."

"Do you have a reservation?"

He looked at Sarah who raised her eyebrows. "Bartowski?" he offered, more to her than to the woman working at the desk.

After checking her list, she grabbed a couple of menus and said, "Yes. We have a table ready for you. Follow me, please."

They followed the young woman down the center aisle of the narrow restaurant. All the tables were covered with white table cloths, water and wine goblets, and white cloth napkins. The black, square chairs at each table gave the place an elegant look without being stuffy. They were shown to a table for two.

That was a surprise. "I thought perhaps we would be meeting someone here?" Sarah ventured.

The woman tipped her head and answered, "I don't believe so. The reservation is for two."

Chuck laughed and shook his head. "Of course it was. Thank you," he said to the woman as he pulled Sarah's chair out for her. Once they were seated, the woman handed them the menus, said, "Enjoy your lunch," and returned to her post.

"I assumed you would want to sit against the wall so you could see the entire room," Chuck said before he glanced down at the menu.

"You know me well," she answered as her gaze flicked about, taking in the other diners and the doors at the front and back of the restaurant. When she saw no one was looking their way, she leaned forward and said, "Chuck, this is nuts! In my purse I have a dozen tulip bulbs and a box of condoms. What the hell is going on?"

He looked back up at her. "I have no idea. There has to be an end to it. I just don't know what it is. But we haven't been threatened or put in any kind of danger. As a matter of fact, no one seems to be paying any attention to us at all."

Sighing, she sat back in her chair. "I know. There's a part of me that thinks I should be angry at the way whoever behind this is playing us, but I'm not. I think I'm more exasperated than anything else. I want to get the information on Benoit, but honestly, I'm not sure that's going to happen."

"Do you want to just bail out and go find the kids? How about I text Casey and Morgan to see how things are going?" He took out his phone and sent a quick message to each. A half a minute later, the response from Casey came. "So eloquent," Chuck said with a laugh as he held up his phone for Sarah to see his one word reply. "Fine," it read. After another half minute, he read Morgan's response out loud. "'This is awesome. Having a blast. Later!' Apparently, they're not missing us at all."

"If the kids are okay, and we don't seem to be in any danger, I say we keep going. Either our mystery person will finally reveal himself or the clues stop." She quickly perused the menu. Resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her fist, she eyed him and said, "I'd hate for our reservation here to be wasted. The food looks good here."

"It does. Let's eat."

~ O ~

They'd just finished sharing dessert when their waiter brought them their check. On the small tray under the receipt was another piece of paper. Chuck picked it up, glanced at it and handed it across the table to Sarah. "Look, another note from our friend."

"Of course," she said, sarcasm evident in her voice. She took the paper and saw that they were now instructed to go tour the Royal Palace. "Maybe the creepy voice is Queen Beatrix."

Laughing as he placed euro notes on the tray to pay their bill, he said, "The way this day is going, I wouldn't be surprised if we walked in and they immediately escorted us to meet her."

A tiny smile curled on Sarah's lips. She leaned on her elbows resting on the table and said, "Wouldn't that be something? Martie would flip if she found out we met a queen."

Her husband mirrored her pose. Their faces inches from each other, he said, "She would. If we meet her, we'll get some pictures," he said with a small chuckle. "Are we ready to go?"

"Mm-hmm. The room is secure."

"And you know this because…"

Never moving her eyes from his she said in a low voice, "The couple at the table behind you is engaged in some kind of heated, whispered argument, the tableful of businessmen are on their third round of liquid lunch, the first date three tables over from us is a bit awkward but they like each other, the young woman that seated us is dating one of the chefs and a woman wearing a green top should be coming from the ladies room just about now."

As if by magic, a woman in a green top exited the ladies room, walked past them and rejoined her dining partner.

Chuck's smile grew. "Impressive, Agent Walker." Bouncing his eyebrows, he said, "What about the table with the beautiful spy and her nerdy companion?"

"Oh, them," she said with a smirk. "They're just a boring married couple who never have any fun."

"That's too bad. Sounds like they should get out more." He bridged the small gap between them and pecked her lips. "Speaking of getting out more, we have a palace to visit, don't we?"

"Yes, we do," she answered. They left the restaurant and walked back the way they'd come. They went past the National Monument, across the Dam square to the Royal Palace. They spent the next ninety minutes exploring the opulent building. In the main entry, the floor, the walls and the statues were all marble. They tipped their heads back and stared up at the soaring painted arched ceiling high above them. Below their feet were world and stars maps inlaid into the marble floor. As they wandered from room to room, they were awed by the ornate furniture, and stunning works of art, whether they were marble busts, gilded clocks, silver candelabras or huge paintings of kings and queens and men on horses. The deep, rich hues of the rugs over the marble floors and coverings on the walls and windows made each room magnificent and luxuriant. Crystal chandeliers hung everywhere.

When they were done in the palace, they exited and walked out into the bright afternoon sunlight. The square was even more crowded with people—and pigeons—than it was before they went to tour the palace. "Next to the palace, our house in Beaver Creek is like a shack," Chuck said.

She laced her fingers through his. "I prefer our 'shack,' thank you very much."

"Love shack, baby," he sang, which earned him a hand squeeze. "And sadly, we didn't get to meet the queen," he said as they strolled across the square.

"No, and we don't have a new clue, either. We're just left here hanging," she said, her frustration clearly evident in her voice. "Now what do we do?"

"I think we have two options. We either leave and go find the kids or we stay here for a little while to see if something shakes out. I say we wait a little while."

She slowly blew out a breath. "You're right. Maybe they're here and just making sure it's clear." They wandered over to a flat marble bench and sat down. They alternated between studying the architecture of the buildings around the square and people watching.

Sarah jumped with surprise when, fifteen minutes later, the burner phone in her bag rang. Grabbing it quickly, she answered, "Yes?"

"Come to the National Monument," the creepy voice instructed. The call ended before Sarah could even respond.

"National Monument," she said to Chuck, closing the phone and dropping it back in her purse. She saw her Smith & Wesson there and wanted to put it in her waistband for easier access, but her attire wouldn't accommodate for that. She really hoped it wouldn't come to guns, anyway. There were too many people around. Her knives would have to do if it came to it.

They stood from the bench and strode across the square to the tall, conical pillar. They stopped and waited on the first wide, flat brick step that encircled the monument. Sarah's eyes were sweeping the area to their right when she heard her name called from the left. It wasn't what she expected. It wasn't "Walker" or "Bartowski." It was "Aunt Sarah." Spinning around, she saw a grinning Megan running at her in a flat out sprint. Shocked to see her, Sarah bent down and caught her up in her arms when the little girl slammed into her. "Aunt Sarah!" she cried again. Megan's arms squeezed Sarah's neck so hard, she nearly choked. "Megan, sweetie! What are you doing here?"

When she stood up with Megan clinging to her, Martie was in Chuck's arms. The rest of the family approached. Still stunned, Sarah looked into the faces of her nieces and nephews—and Amy—grinning back at her. Morgan was smiling, too, of course, and even the corners of Casey's mouth were slightly upturned. She lurched and nearly dropped Megan when she looked into one face at the back of the group she didn't expect to see. _No. It couldn't be_. But it was.

"Carina! What? How? What? How?"

"Marriage and parenthood has done wonders for your communication skills, Sarah," Carina said as she slipped through the group and came up to her. When Sarah loosened her grip on Megan, the little girl slid down her like a firehouse pole and deftly landed on her feet.

"Look, Aunt Sarah! Aunt Carina found us!" Megan announced, clapping and jumping up and down with excitement.

"I can see that!" Sarah answered with a bewildered laugh, giving her friend a hug. "Carina—"

Before Sarah could say anything else, Carina whispered in her ear, "You've been following my clues, I see. Have you had a nice day?"

Sarah gasped and stepped back from the hug. "Wait! You? You were the voice on the phone?"

Carina's only response was a sly smile and an arching eyebrow.

"Why? Why send us all over Amsterdam today? Why not just call me? How do you even know we were here? And who I'm looking for? Do you even have any—?"

"Whoa, slow down there, Walker. I'll answer all your questions." When Megan tugged on Carina's pants and gave her a frown, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "Bartowski," she mumbled, correcting her mistake.

Sarah laughed, bent down and kissed Megan's cheek. "I missed you today," she whispered to the little girl.

"Did you and Uncle Chuck have a fun adventure today? Aunt Carina did it," Megan told her, her eyes wide with excitement.

"We did. I'm really surprised. I want to talk to her and hear all about it. Once I hug your brothers and sisters hello, that is."

Chuck and Sarah took turns greeting their kids with hugs and kisses. When they finished making the rounds, Chuck said to Casey and Morgan, "I thought you were going to take the kids to the science museum."

"Oh, come on, Chuckie. A science museum? That's totally laaaaaame," Carina said, triggering an outbreak of snickers from the kids. Smirking, she sidled closer to Chuck and put a hand on his arm. "Of course, you are a supernerd, so I can see where you'd think that would be fun."

Before Sarah could tell Carina to get her hand off her husband, seven throats loudly and pointedly cleared. Carina quickly dropped her hand and stepped back. "The natives can sure turn on you fast," she grumbled under her breath so only Sarah could hear it.

"Keep your hands off my husband and there won't be any problems," Sarah advised her in a whisper.

"Copy, that," Carina mumbled. Brightening suddenly, she said, "Anyway, these kids needed to have some fun, so we came to Madam Tussauds." She hitched a thumb over her shoulder to point at the building across the street.

"It was really cool, Aunt Sarah," Martie said, looking up at her. "There are all these people made out of wax. They look like they're real."

"They did look real," Lizzie said. The rest of the kids nodded.

"There was a Fiona from _Shrek_," Megan informed her.

"And we got to see the queen of the Netherlands," Martie beamed. "The wax one anyway, but it was still really cool!"

Sarah winked at her husband and then grinned down at her niece. "You're so lucky."

"There were a bunch of sports guys, too," Fred said. "Some of them were _footballers_," he slid his gaze over at Amy who smiled at his use of the word, "so we didn't know who they were."

"Speak for yourself," Amy said. To Chuck and Sarah, she said, "I knew who they were. And laddie will learn eventually, too, if he starts paying attention to _soccer_." She said the last word with an American accent, which got everyone laughing. Fred, of course, looked like he would burst into song at any moment. But then again, he appeared that way whenever Amy spoke to him or even glanced his way.

Carina inclined her head toward Sarah's and said, "I like the redhead. She's feisty. The kid has good taste."

Sarah snorted. "Feisty redhead. Hmm. I wonder why you like her." Squinting at Carina, she asked, "When are you going to answer my questions?"

Carina simply smiled at her and called out to the rest of the group, "Let's take the tram down to Vondelpark and hang out."

"Carina, it would be nice if you asked before you made decisions for us like that," Sarah said.

Her friend gave her a baffled look. "Why start now?"

~ O ~

The kids, Morgan and Chuck laughed and shouted as they played an impromptu game of tag. They had taken over a swath of the green grass of Vondelpark as they ran and chased each other. Casey watched the game from a park bench, happily puffing on a cigar, the smoke drifting away on the gentle breeze. A short distance away, Vegas sat on the grass near a trio of Americans playing bluegrass music for the small crowd that had formed around them.

Carina, sitting on a bench next to Sarah, glanced over at Vegas who was happily tapping his foot to the tempo of the music and asked, "What's with Hillbilly Hank over there?"

"Be nice," Sarah said with a chuckle. "He became a bluegrass fan when he went to a festival in Vail just before our trip here."

Carina dipped her chin and gazed at her over her large, fashionable sunglasses. "Banjos? Really?"

Sarah shrugged. "There's usually a lot of beer at those things, too."

"Ah. That makes more sense." Tipping her head back, she said casually, "Where's that yummy Agent Barstow? I haven't seen him. Did he come along on the trip?"

"Yes, he's a part of the team here. He's on his way back from doing some advance recon work in Berlin." Sarah folded her leg and turned sideways on the bench to face her friend. Resting her arm across the top of the back, she said, "Speaking of our trip, how did you know we were in Amsterdam?"

"You know I keep in touch with Lisa. She told me all about the video game tournaments." Carina frowned and shook her head. "Video games? Really Sarah? You've turned into such a nerd."

"A nerd that can still kick your ass from here to Berlin," she said without hesitation. "Which I might do right now." Her irritation with her friend flared suddenly. "What the hell was all that about today, sending Chuck and me all over the city on some crazy wild goose chase?"

"It wasn't all over the city. It was the Red Light District," Carina said with a sniff.

"Whatever."

"And you should thank me for sending you on your 'wild goose chase' today. I was being nice."

"Nice! How was getting calls on a burner phone with an altered voice 'nice'? You could have just called me on my regular phone."

"Please, that's too easy," Carina said, waving a hand dismissively. With a smirk, she added, "You know how I like to make an entrance."

Snorting, Sarah said, "Well, that's true." She turned toward the group playing tag when she heard an explosion of laughter. Morgan lay spread-eagled on his back in the grass. Megan stood over him triumphantly with her fists on her hips and her foot on his chest.

"That kid's gonna be a hell of an agent someday," Carina said, looking over at the family. "You have her in weapons training, yet?"

Sarah turned and stared at her friend. "Carina, she's six."

Carina shrugged. "She seems ready. Earlier today, she came over to me and pointed out where all the exits in the room were."

"My little junior agent," she said with a mixture of pride and bemusement. "She overheard me talk about it with Casey once and now she does it, too."

Chuckling, Carina said, "She's only six and a better agent than some I know." When the game of tag started again, she looked at Sarah and said, "And for your information, I was being nice to you today. Lisa told me about the sleeping arrangements in London and Paris. Because of me, you and your nerd had a nice day together, just the two of you without the kids. Although I would have thought you would be more on _edge_ than you appear to be. What–"

"Chuck and I have our own bedroom here in Amsterdam," Sarah interrupted.

A grin grew on Carina's face as she studied her friend. "Ahh." She turned toward the group on the grass, held up both arms with her fists forming thumbs up signs, and yelled out, "Way to go, Chuckie!" Chuck, clearly puzzled, settled for waving back.

Sarah snorted again. "You did something nice for Chuck and me? What's the catch?"

"I always do nice things. By the way," Carina said, lowering her voice, "give."

"Give? Give you what?"

"The condoms. I have a date tonight." She put out her hand, palm up.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "And there it is. So, basically, we ran errands for you today," she stated to the expectant redhead.

"Well, yeah," she responded as if it should have been perfectly obvious. "I'm going to do something nice for someone else tonight."

Shaking her head with a chuckle, Sarah took the box from her purse and handed it to her friend. "That's a pretty big box."

Carina's smirk and raised eyebrow made her laugh harder. "Poor guy," Sarah said.

"You have no idea," the redhead answered with a sly grin.

"Okay," Sarah said, "the condoms, I get. What's with the tulip bulbs? I can't see you planting a garden."

Carina sat up straighter and grinned. "Speaking of gardens! Has Chuck planted—"

"Stop right there," Sarah warned with a growl.

"You're no fun," Carina sulked. Like lightning, the pout changed to an evil grin. The sweet voice didn't match the face when Carina shook the box and said, "Take some."

"No thanks."

"Ah-HA!"

"'Ah-ha' what?"

"Don't want condoms! You and Chuckie are—"

Sarah blew out an annoyed breath. "Carina, I told you this before. I'm not having this conversation with you."

Carina shrugged and stuck the box in her purse. "Okay. Can't blame me for trying."

Her friend giving up so easy actually made Sarah more nervous than if she'd kept at her. Deciding to keep her distracted, she took the bag of bulbs from her purse and handed them to Carina. "Are you going tell me about the bulbs?"

Carina pushed the bag back toward Sarah. "They're for you. A little souvenir from the Netherlands for you to plant in Colorado. I want to see which 'germinates' first. You or the bulbs."

Sarah stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. "You're insane."

Dipping her head, Carina said wryly, "Thank you." With a grin, she added, "I just wish I could have been at the Condomerie when you were there."

"It was definitely an experience I'll never forget," Sarah said, grinning.

"Ha! See? You did have fun!" Carina crowed with a smug look.

"Yes, we had a wonderful day, thanks to you," Sarah finally admitted. Still curious, she asked, "The phone?"

"Paid a guy to slip it into your purse at the Buy More. He did the notes, too."

"That's what I figured. Was it you on the phone?"

"Oh, yeah. That was me."

"You know, you didn't have to be with the kids today. Casey, Morgan and Vegas could have handled it."

"Someone had to save them from the science museum," she said airily.

"I bet you didn't even know they were going to the science museum until you showed up at the apartments. You wanted to spend time with them."

Carina stared at her, her face neutral.

Knowing Carina would never admit to her true motivation, she asked instead, "How did you find where we're staying?"

"I told you, Lisa. She didn't know I was going to be here, though. I wanted to surprise everyone."

"You did manage to do that. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"The DEA sent me here to work with Dutch authorities on enforcement. Show them some of our methods. There's a new, stricter drug law that was passed that makes it illegal for coffeeshops to sell marijuana to non-residents and tourists. They're just starting to enforce it the southern provinces along the borders."

"What are you doing for them?"

"I go to the coffeeshops that are supposed to be 'members only'—meaning only Dutch citizens can get a membership card to go in and buy stuff—and try to get one as Elin Hallström, Swedish national."

"A sting."

"Yup."

"And?"

"So far, most are obeying the law. Some aren't."

They turned to watch the game of tag again. After another moment, Sarah asked, "So tell me. How do you even know I'm looking for Benoit anyway? Lisa shouldn't be talking about my mission on an open channel."

"Unclench, Sarah. Lisa didn't say anything. All the agencies are in on this and your name is on the resource list. I figured Graham's 'best agent' would be the lead for the CIA." Carina paused and then continued, "You know, I wonder why my boss, Charlie, doesn't call _me_ his best agent."

"It might have something to do with the fact that you try to personally 'vet' all the new male DEA recruits," Sarah said drily.

Carina tossed her head. "Not all the recruits. Only the cute ones. Just making sure the Agency's checks are thorough." Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder if Charlie's the one behind all this nunnery recruitment mail I'm getting. I swear Sarah, every time I go back to Washington there's more and more of it stuffed in my mailbox."

Sarah sat up straighter. "Focus, Carina. Do you actually have any intel on Benoit? I figured it was just a way to mess with me."

"Would I do that to you?"

"Yes."

"Ha! Yes, I would. But this time, I didn't."

"So what's this intel?"

"He has a yacht."

Sarah's eyebrows pulled together. "Why wasn't that in your debrief with the DEA and the CIA?"

"I just found out. The DEA had a photo of a guy that was at Benoit's house once. They've been tracking down anyone who ever set foot in his place to talk to them, from majordomo to backyard pooper-scooper. They finally found him and sent me to 'interview' him since I was already in the 'neighborhood.'" Preening, she said, "He was more than willing to talk to me."

Snorting, Sarah said, "I'm sure. What part of the 'neighborhood' was this?"

"Port Grimaud."

"On the Cote d'Azur? Nice work if you can get it," Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, the guy was really slumming," the redhead said sarcastically. "Turns out he owns the company that was doing repairs on Benoit's secret yacht. He bragged about how Benoit even flew him up to Paris to pay him for the work done. In cash."

"That's not a big surprise," Sarah said, mulling the information over in her mind. "You never saw him at the house?"

She shook her head. "All this happened before I got there."

Sarah's mind kicked into overdrive. "If he's out on a yacht, that would explain why he seems to have completely vanished," she mused. "This happened months ago, though. If he is on this yacht—and we don't know that he is—he could be anywhere in the world by now."

Carina made a noise of agreement.

"Did you find out the name of the boat?"

She nodded, frowning slightly. "It's a strange name for a French guy to use. It's called, 'The El Dorado.'"

One of Sarah's eyebrows rose at that nugget of information. "Gautier told me he has a holding company called 'El Dorado.' I'll let Graham know. How come you came directly to me instead of up the chain of command?"

"You know how inter-agency 'cooperation' can be. It was faster to do it this way. Plus, it was a lot more fun."

"It was. Thank you, Carina."

Her friend dipped her head. "You're welcome."

Panting, Chuck walked over to the bench and sat down next to his wife.

"Looking a little red-faced there, Chuckie. Out of shape?" Carina asked.

"A little. Sarah and I were going to keep up with our jogging while we're here in Europe, but things keep, ah, coming up."

Carina snickered when Sarah grinned and leaned back to bump against him. "Good to know you're still fulfilling your husbandly duties."

"Happily. You ladies have a nice chat?"

"We did," Carina said with a purr. She lowered her glasses and winked at him. "We talked all about you."

He snorted. "I'm sure."

Lisa came running over and said, "Uncle Morgan's clipboard says it's your PDA time."

"Thanks, Lisa," Chuck said. To Sarah, he said, "We can skip it if you want. Thanks to Carina, we sort of had an extended PDA time today. If you'd like to stay here and talk with her, that's okay with me."

Sarah rested her head back against his shoulder. "Morgan's clipboard would be sad if we didn't have at least a short session." Craning to look at him, she suggested, "We could go over behind one of those trees over there and make out."

"Oh god, Lisa! I'm afraid to ask," Carina said, her face twisted in a grimace.

Lisa laughed and rolled her eyes. Sitting down next to Carina, she said, "It's a scheduled time in every city when Uncle Chuck and Aunt Sarah go off by themselves for a while and talk and kiss and stuff."

"Oh, brother," Carina groaned.

Laughing, Sarah stood and offered her hand to her husband. When he grinned and took her hand, she pulled him to his feet. "We'll be back in ten minutes," he called over his shoulder as they walked away. At her raised eyebrow, his grin grew and he said, "Fifteen."

As they sauntered toward the trees, hand in hand, Sarah heard Carina say to Lisa, "So tell me more about these guys from Luxembourg."

~ O ~

"How come Aunt Carina didn't come back with us to watch the movie?" Curtis asked.

Eyes glued to the TV screen, Bridget shushed her brother.

"She had plans tonight. We'll see her tomorrow before we fly to Berlin," Sarah answered him quietly.

"She told me she had a date," Lisa whispered.

That got Lizzie's and Amy's attention. "Did she say who it was with?" Lizzie asked. The heads of the blonde, brunette and redhead teenagers drew closer to quietly confer.

Lisa shook her head. "She wouldn't tell me. It's probably just some Dutch guy."

Lizzie popped her head up and looked around the room. Her eyes flashed with glee when she lowered it again and whispered, "Uncle Casey's not here, either. I bet they're together!"

"Wait a minute," Amy said, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought Casey and Morgan were together. Or does the big one swing both ways?"

Lizzie and Lisa slapped their hands over their mouths to stifle the giggles. "No, Uncle Casey and Uncle Morgan aren't together," Lizzie said, her voice muffled behind her hand.

Amy looked relieved. "Oh, good. Otherwise, it's hard to explain the look on Morgan's face every time he looked at Carina. He kept getting this stunned, lovesick look, like someone had just cracked him on the side of the head with a cricket bat."

Lizzie and Lisa both snorted. "And I don't think Aunt Carina even knew he was part of our group," Lisa said.

Amy nodded. "That's the other thing I noticed," she whispered excitedly. "Carina kept flirting with Casey. I kept thinking 'well, she's sniffing 'round the wrong dog,' but now it makes sense. I couldn't understand why he seemed to be enjoying it so." She flopped back against her cushion. "_That's_ why I was so confused."

Having heard this murmured conversation, Sarah buried her face into Chuck's shoulder and convulsed with laughter. Chuck propped a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. When she was finally able to control her shaking, she sat back and swiped at the moisture under her eyes. Leaning in, she kissed his cheek and whispered, "Craziest. Day. Ever."

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: I won't be posting next week, Thursday, October 18th. I'm currently doing research and outlining the next few chapters. I do plan on having a new chapter ready to go on the 25th. Thanks for reading!


	27. Lost Without You

**A/N the first: **First, thanks for reading, reviewing, etc. You all are the best.

Thanks to **AgentInWaiting** for his awesome beta skills. Also, it was his birthday last week. (Tosses confetti.) Happy birthday!

Last, but certainly not least, a big thank you goes to **Frea** for her input and help.

Sigh. Confetti leaves quite a mess. (Goes and gets a broom.)

**Chapter 27 – Lost Without You**

Whenever the Bartowski/Woodcomb family went anywhere to eat, they usually drew curious stares from both the employees of the restaurant and other diners. Any family with seven children was bound to garner attention. Sarah had learned this early on. Usually, the looks received were simply curious or amused glances. The occasional disapproving glower would swiftly be defused by a steely, challenging glare from intense, blue eyes.

On this morning, Sarah could only laugh at the looks of shock and surprise as their group entered the Leidseplein McDonald's. The restaurant wasn't particularly busy, so their arrival more than doubled the number of patrons inside the establishment. Amy and her cousin, Caitlin, had joined the full contingent and now that Agent Barstow was back from Berlin the group's total had grown to fifteen. Those who weren't involved in standing in line to purchase enough food to feed an army scattered around the dining area to secure tables and seating for everyone. Unlike the night when they ate outdoors at Pancake Corner and had more security variables to deal with, the kids were able to sit wherever and with whomever they wanted.

Sarah counted heads as Chuck, Morgan, Casey and she carried trays loaded with food and distributed breakfast to the hungry crew. Morgan sat down to eat with Curtis, Martie and Bridget. Most of Chuck's tray and all of Sarah's were unloaded at the table where Fred, Amy, Caitlin, Lizzie, Lisa and Megan sat. Megan had enjoyed her time sleeping in the same room with her oldest sisters and had now apparently decided she should hang out with them all the time. The teenagers—except Fred, whose dour face made it clear he wasn't happy with the seating arrangements at all—had smiled at Megan indulgently when she climbed into the seat next to Amy. Chuck mouthed a "thank you" to the older girls who nodded discreetly.

Casey, Vegas and Barstow sat together at another table, which unsurprisingly, had the least amount of talking. There was none, actually. Sarah was a bit concerned when she first saw Barstow that morning, as he was looking more than a little "road weary." Of course, he had just returned from his advance recon trip to Berlin the evening before and now, a little less than eighteen hours later, was turning around to go directly back. She could see how he would be tired. She was still curious about the scratch on his cheek she had asked him about earlier. He had answered that he must have scratched himself while sleeping. She wasn't convinced that was the entire truth, but chose not to press the issue. He was a valued member of the team and there was nothing in her past interactions with him to indicate that he was anything other than the upstanding, reliable agent he appeared to be. She did, however, notice that he seemed ravenously hungry and gulped down his large serving of orange juice like he needed to replenish all of his bodily fluids.

"I guess no one wants to sit with us," Chuck said when he finally finished his food deliveries and sat down to eat. Digging into his McTosti, he added, "But I'm always happy to have you to myself."

"You're sweet, but I'm afraid we won't be alone for long," Sarah said as her gaze shifted from his face to the person approaching their table from behind him. "I was beginning to think you were going to stand us up," Sarah said to Carina as she plopped down hard in the bright red plastic chair next to hers.

"You're lucky I'm up at this godforsaken hour," the redhead grumbled back, her voice sounding like she had been gargling gravel. Reaching over, she grabbed Sarah's cup of coffee and took a swig. And then another.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee, Carina?" Chuck asked.

"Such a cheesy pick-up line and with your wife sitting right here, too. Shame on you, Chuckie," she mock-scolded before finishing off Sarah's drink. "But I won't say no if you're buying."

"I've got the feeling you've said _that_ before," Chuck mumbled under his breath as he stood. He winked at Sarah's perceptive smile. "Two coffees, coming up."

"What did he say? Is he being snarky?" Carina groused, shooting daggers at his retreating form. "Because I'm in no mood to be messed with this morning."

"Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed," Sarah said, appraising Carina with a sidelong glance. She noticed the dark circles under Carina's eyes that couldn't be completely covered with concealer. "Or were you and your date under the bed, swinging above the bed and/or hanging off the side of the bed?"

Chuck returned with two steaming cups of coffee and put one down in front of each of the women. Immediately sensing he was interrupting, he said, "I'm, ah, going to table hop and see how everyone else is doing." Snagging his food, he kissed the top of Sarah's head and then made a beeline for the group of Morgan and three of the kids.

Picking up the cup, Sarah blew across the surface of the steaming coffee before she took a tentative sip.

"Well," Carina said, looking up at the ceiling, "we didn't exactly…"

Sarah nearly did a spit-take. "What? Did we not buy you a _gross_ of condoms yesterday?"

"Yeah, but we got a little sidetracked."

"What in the world would sidetrack you from having a _nice_ time?"

Carina shot her an indignant look. "Well, there were these orphans we had to save. And the crocodiles were—"

"Save it, Carina," Sarah said, rolling her eyes. "You could have just said he was…" she hesitated as she searched for the right word, "disappointing. You don't have to make stuff up."

Carina put her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm. "So, I guess I shouldn't bother with the part about defusing the bomb?" she asked with a sly grin.

"Yes, let's skip ahead. Are you going to see each other again?"

"Of course!" Carina said, tossing her hair. "Who wouldn't want to see _me_ again?"

"Sorry. What was I thinking?" Sarah said with a chuckle. "You like this guy, huh?"

"Yeah, I do. I don't think I've had that much fun in my entire life." The barest hint of a smile formed. "He's a really great guy."

"Wow! That's quite an endorsement, especially since you say you didn't—"

Megan ran up to their table and stood next to it, her eyes shining with excitement. "Good morning, Aunt Carina. What didn't you do?"

"I didn't ask you if you like the doll I sent you," Carina answered smoothly.

Megan beamed. "I do! Did you get the thank you card I wrote all by myself? Well, sort of by myself. Bridget helped me with the spelling."

"I did. You did a good job on it."

"Thanks," the little girl answered, clearly thrilled. "Her name is Dani and she goes on missions with Spy Barbie." Megan tipped her head to the side, suddenly pensive. "We had to change her clothes though. We decided she shouldn't be going on missions in her pajamas."

"She would if she's going to try to sedu—"

Sarah gave her friend a not so subtle kick under the table. "Thank you, Carina," she said in a low, vaguely threatening voice.

Carina turned on Sarah and started to complain, "Hey, don't kick—" Sarah's "really—you don't know?" glare stopped her short. She huffed a breath of understanding and turned back to Megan. "I see you have Spy Barbie and GI Joe with you," she said, eyeing the dolls in the little girl's hands. "Did Dani come along with you on this trip?"

"Mm-hmm, only she's in my suitcase. Joe and Barbie always travel together. Dani is off by herself doing missions. They see her sometimes and they all go on missions together, too."

"Good. I wouldn't want Dani to miss out," Carina said.

Megan's eyes widened and she slowly shook her head. "Oh no. Dani hates being left out." Seeming to suddenly remember why she had come over to their table in the first place, Megan held Joe out to Sarah and said, "Can you put Joe in your purse? Barbie needs some time alone."

Sarah swallowed a snicker as she took the doll from her niece's hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carina's lips twitch as she fought off a grin. "I hope Joe and Barbie didn't have a fight," Sarah managed to say with a straight face.

Megan shook her head again. "No, they didn't fight. Barbie has some reports to write and needs to think." Her brows pulled together. "Joe can be kinda distracting sometimes."

Carina snorted and said, "Men can be very distracting."

Megan nodded, her eyes on Joe as he disappeared into Sarah's purse.

"Hey, how come Joe has on boots but Barbie is barefoot?" Carina asked, carefully lifting the doll from Megan's hand to examine it.

"Barbie's not allowed to travel with shoes on," Megan stated.

"How come?"

"They fall off too easy."

"There's a pair of Barbie-sized plastic purple pumps somewhere at Heathrow airport," Sarah clarified.

"Oh, okay," Carina said, her eyes flashing with humor. "I was afraid it was an omen of things to come for you, Sarah. You know, barefoot and pregn— Ow! Seriously, stop kicking me." She reached down to rub her shin.

"Then stop saying stuff like that," Sarah answered, her eyebrow arching dangerously.

Megan, who had been watching the exchange with a puzzled look, shrugged suddenly and said, "Bye!" She ran back to "the big kids' table" and climbed up into her seat next to Amy.

Carina snuck a peek over at the table with Casey, Vegas and Barstow. "I'm gonna go say 'hi' to yummy Agent Barstow."

Gawping at her, Sarah said, "A minute ago you were all twisted up about some other guy and now you're going to go flirt with Barstow?"

"I like to keep my options open," she said, her eyes still on the table of agents.

Sarah's gaze flicked back and forth between her friend—who obviously couldn't tear her eyes away from Barstow—and the agent, who kept his stare pinned on the McTosti in his hand. When he seemed to sense Carina's gaze on him, he looked up from his food and glanced her way. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds before he quickly returned his attention to his breakfast.

Sarah whacked Carina on the arm with the back of her hand and said in a loud, insistent whisper, "Carina! It's Barstow! _That's_ who you were out with last night."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Carina sniffed, turning back toward their table.

"Please. Give me some credit. I'm trained to read body language and yours is practically screaming. I'm surprised you didn't just melt each other's eyeballs with those looks just now."

Flicking a crumb off the table, Carina grumbled, "It's hard to keep secrets when all your friends are spies." Sighing, she said, "Okay, I admit it. I was out with Barstow last night." She gave Sarah a thoughtful look. "I really do like him, so don't blow this for me."

Searching her friend's face, Sarah saw an openness there that was rarely revealed. "Okay," she answered simply.

Carina nodded once stiffly in acknowledgement before the impishness returned to her face. Getting ready to stand, she said with an air of mock propriety, "Now if you will excuse me, I have a yummy agent to flirt with."

"Wait," Sarah said, putting her hand on Carina's arm to stop her. "Before you go, I want to ask you about something." After seeing Carina turn her head a little toward Barstow's table, she added, "It will just take a minute."

Side-eyed, Carina looked at her and said, "_Of course_ you have my permission to name your firstborn daughter 'Carina.'"

Laughing, Sarah said, "That's good to know. Thank you." Her smile faded. "This has to do with another part of my mission here in Europe. Have you ever heard the names Frost or Orion?"

The redhead nodded slowly. "They are—or were—connected to Benoit. I remember seeing their names in a briefing on the spreadsheets that were on the drives you swiped from his safe. I'm under the impression they worked for him."

"Actually, they were working for the CIA when they went missing a few years ago. The more 'secret' part of my mission while we're here in Europe is to try and track them down. Maybe they can give us intel on how to find Benoit." As much as she trusted and cared for Carina, she had to keep Frost and Orion's relationship to Chuck a secret until she discussed it with him. "Would you mind discreetly asking around to see if anyone knows anything about them?"

"Sure, I can do that." Glancing back toward Barstow, she said, "I'll let you know if I hear anything. Is that all?"

Chuckling, Sarah answered, "Yes, that's all. Go. Flirt."

Carina was out of her chair like a shot and joined the other three agents at their table. Having noticed that his wife was now alone, Chuck returned to his original seat. "That looks like an interesting table to be at," Chuck said, tipping his head toward Carina and the men.

Sarah blew out a breath. "You have no idea."

~ O ~

After breakfast, the groups scattered to their places of lodging to pick up their luggage and check out. They all met up at Leidseplein and took the tram to the Amsterdam Centraal train station. The usually playful and gregarious group was uncharacteristically subdued. Their time in Amsterdam had been so fun, it was clear that no one wanted to leave. Unfortunately, their schedule imposed itself and it was time to move on.

Once at the station, they didn't have much time together. The Bartowski clan needed to take the train to the airport as soon as possible, but both Chuck and Sarah knew Fred wasn't going anywhere until he saw Amy's train pull away from the station. On the platform next to Amy's awaiting train, there were hugs goodbye and promises to keep in touch. The rest of the group stayed where they were while Fred, Amy and Caitlin walked a short distance down platform to the car they would be traveling in. Fred and Amy stopped while Caitlin continued on and boarded the train.

They hadn't gone very far, so Sarah was able to see and hear everything. While she was discreet as she watched and listened—she was a spy after all—she simply couldn't look away.

"I'm glad your phone works again," she heard Amy say. "Try not to fall into any more canals for the rest of the trip, would you?"

"I will," he said with a weak smile. Fred had the saddest look on his face, like someone had just kicked his puppy. It absolutely broke Sarah's heart to see him that way.

"Promise you'll use that phone and keep in touch, yeah?"

"Yeah, I promise." Suddenly nervous, he shoved his hands in his pockets and dug the toe of his black chucks at something on the platform. "I, uh, got this for you." From his pocket he pulled out something Sarah couldn't quite see. One glance at Chuck's face told her that he knew what it was.

"What is it?" she asked, whispering in his ear.

"It's a silver necklace with a tulip pendant," he whispered back into hers.

_Wow_. "Is that what you two were up to in that souvenir shop while we waited for everyone to meet up at the tram?"

"He asked me to help him find something 'awesome' for her." He peeked over at the teenagers. "And judging by the way things over there are going, I think we succeeded."

When she looked in their direction, Sarah saw a clearly ecstatic Fred clasping the necklace around a radiant Amy's neck.

Slipping her arms around her husband's waist, Sarah said, "You charming Bartowski men don't mess around, do you?"

His arms encircled her. "Nope, we don't," he said rather proudly. "Who could blame us?"

"Very smooth, Mr. Bartowski," she said and kissed his cheek. She turned back toward the teenagers in time to see Amy kiss Fred's cheek. Then the redhead grabbed the handle of her suitcase, turned, and strode toward the door of the train car. Just before she boarded, she twisted around, smiled and gave him a little wave. And then she was gone.

Flushed and dazed, Fred—sporting a huge, goofy smile—turned and weaved unsteadily toward the awaiting group. Once back in the family fold, there was a hug from Sarah and pats on the back from Chuck and Morgan.

Casey gave him a curt nod. "Way to go, kid."

"Thanks, Uncle Casey," Fred said, finding his voice again.

They had little time to celebrate as they needed to get to the airport. Since the train to Amsterdam Airport Schiphol was the opposite direction from Carina's train to Maastricht, they said their goodbyes where they stood. After Carina hugged each of the kids, the two friends shared an embrace. "It was a wonderful surprise seeing you here," Sarah said. "You always manage to pop up when I least expect it."

"What can I say? It's a gift."

"It is," she said with a laugh. "Thanks for everything. It was a real treat for the kids to spend time with you yesterday. And Chuck and I can't thank you enough for the fun we had. It was definitely an experience we'll never forget."

Carina grinned. "That's what I'm going for. Unforgettable."

Barstow, who was standing at the back of the group, coughed twice and cleared his throat.

As if that was her cue, she finished her goodbyes. "Chuckie, keep up with those husbandly duties." Winking at the big man, she simply said, "Casey." Sidling up to Barstow, she chucked him under the chin with her finger and purred, "Call me." Other than the twinkle in his eyes, his face remained neutral. Sauntering away with her suitcase rolling along behind her, she waved a hand and called out, "_Hoi hoi_, Bartowskis."

The family watched her until she disappeared into the crowd. "Never a dull moment when she's around, is there?" Chuck asked, as the family turned and started toward their train.

"No, that is something she's never been accused of," Sarah answered.

Morgan caught up with them. "Wow, dude!" he said, his voice full of awe. "That Carina! She's really something."

"That she is," Chuck agreed.

"I think she and I had a real connection," Morgan continued excitedly. "I gave her my number."

"Yes, Morgan, we know. We were right there on the tram with you when it happened," Chuck answered.

"Do you think she'll call me?"

Somehow, Sarah managed to keep a snort at bay. After Morgan and Carina's interaction in the tram, the redhead had turned to her asked, "Why does Martin keep saying his name is Morgan?"

"Because his name is Morgan."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Carina. I'm sure."

Carina's final response had been a bemused, "Huh."

Sarah was more than happy to let Chuck field Morgan's question. His answer made her chuckle.

"Maybe."

~ O ~

The train ride from Amsterdam Centraal to Amsterdam Airport Schiphol was relatively short, so the family arrived with time to spare. Once their bags were checked and they had successfully passed through security, they had a little time to kill before their flight left. After eating lunch at one of the food courts, it was time to go to their gate and wait to board their plane. Of course, that didn't stop Megan from dragging Sarah into one last souvenir shop to buy some snacks to munch on during the flight. Sarah couldn't help but snicker when she saw Agent Barstow in the same store, holding a bottle of antacids in his hand while he perused the aspirin section.

Sarah and Megan made their purchases, left Barstow to look for the perfect pain reliever and walked back to where the family was gathered. Sarah sat down next to Chuck who was speaking with a middle aged Dutch gentleman in the seat on the other side of him. Her husband was patiently answering the same question that was asked everywhere they went. "Yes, they are all ours." Leaning back a bit, he said, "This is my wife, Sarah."

She smiled at the man and waited for the inevitable, "You must have been a child yourself when you had them" comment that usually came next. Instead the man said, "I have three daughters of my own. Treasure the time with them when they are young. They grow up so fast."

In her own short time with the kids, Sarah knew this to be true. Over the course of the almost year since she first arrived in Beaver Creek, she had certainly noticed how each of their kids and grown and changed.

"There's a popular Dutch song called _Dochters_, or _Daughters_ in English. The song says it more eloquently than I ever could. Do either of you speak Dutch?"

Chuck took his laptop from his bag, connected to the airport's wifi, and immediately started searching YouTube for the song.

"I know a bit," Sarah answered, "but I'm not conversationally fluent."

"That's a shame. It has such lovely sentiments."

"Is this it?" Chuck asked, clicking the play button on the screen. A piano began to play and after a few seconds, a man's voice began to sing.

After listening to the song for a few bars, the man smiled and said, "Yes, that's it."

"I found a video with an English translation," Chuck said as he angled the computer so he and Sarah could look at the screen together. As the words of the song were written across heartwarming photos of fathers with their young daughters shown as a slideshow, the singer sang of how he has been watching his daughter—whom he will always see as small—grow from infant to a young girl to a teenager to a bride. By the time the video was over, Sarah's throat burned and Chuck's eyes were red-rimmed and puddled with tears.

"You love your girls very much," the man stated.

Sarah cleared her throat. "Yes."

An announcement was made over the loudspeaker. "My flight is boarding. I must go. Good luck to you and your daughters," the man said before he stood and walked away.

Chuck closed his laptop and put it back in the bag. Sitting back, he sniffed hard and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Gah! Arrest that man. That was emotional hit-and-run." He tried to sound light-hearted, but Sarah could hear the thickness in his voice.

She took his hand in both of hers and pulled it onto her lap. "Are you okay?" As much as the song and images affected her, she knew it would affect him even more.

"Yeah." Blowing out a breath, he said, "It's just that things like that make me think of Ellie and Devon and everything they're missing."

She squeezed his hand as her eyes burned and her throat felt like it was closing off again. There was nothing she could say, and she wasn't sure she could talk at that moment anyway. They were saved from further melancholy when the announcement came that it was time to board the plane. The kids immediately paired off in their teams and grabbed their carry-ons. After they waited in line to show their boarding passes, they tromped down the jet way and stepped onto the plane. Once all the kids were seated and buckled in, Chuck and Sarah settled into their seats. Megan sat next to her aunt, already busily drawing on a blank page in one of Sarah's notepads.

As the steady stream of passengers filing past them to get to their seats began to lessen, the flight attendants began to prepare the cabin for departure. When she glanced up to look at one of the last passengers hurriedly boarding the plane, Sarah was surprised to see that it was Agent Barstow. He seemed a bit frazzled. His jacket was folded over one arm and he juggled his phone in his other hand. He alternated between looking down at the phone as he tried to type on it with his thumb and peeking up at the seat numbers on the edge of the overhead baggage bins to locate his seat. He hurried past the family without a glimpse their way. It wasn't unusual for Barstow and Vegas to act as though they didn't know the family when they were traveling, but this time, Sarah was sure Barstow was so distracted, he would have had a hard time finding them even if he was supposed to. _Such is the bewitching power of Carina Miller._

Sarah peered over the top of her headrest and watched Barstow flop into his seat several rows back, lean his head against the headrest and drag a hand across his face. Finally still, his face relaxed and he seemed fixated on the little round air vent above him. She chuckled quietly to herself and made a mental note to get the full story of Scott and Carina's Amsterdam Adventure some day. Her eyes swept the cabin one final time to ensure everyone was now indeed onboard. When she looked at Barstow again, his eyes were already closed. The flight was a relatively short one—only about ninety minutes—but she figured he could use all the sleep he could get.

The airplane had been aloft for about ten minutes when Sarah dragged her purse out from under the seat in front of her and dug through it, looking for the map of Berlin she wanted to study. GI Joe was still in there from the morning and he was in the way so Sarah took him out and set him down next to her niece.

Megan immediately stopped drawing and picked up Joe. "Can I have Spy Barbie, too, please?"

"I don't have Barbie," Sarah answered as she removed the small folded map from the bottom of her bag. "I thought you had her."

Megan scrunched her face and shook her head. "I don't have her."

An unsettled feeling stirred in the pit of Sarah's stomach. "Did you give her to Lizzie?"

Megan leaned out into the aisle and twisted around to address her oldest sister in the row behind them. "Lizzie, do you have Spy Barbie?"

Not taking her eyes from the game she was playing on her phone, she answered, "No, squirt, I don't. Last time I saw her, you had her on the train to the airport."

"Lisa, did I give her to you?" Megan asked, concern creeping into her voice.

"Nope. Sorry," she answered, pulling the earbud from her ear. "But Lizzie's right. I remember seeing her on the train."

Sarah Walker Bartowski was a veteran spy. Calmly and fearlessly, she had gone into all kinds of dangerous situations, not knowing the threats awaiting her. She had faced them with a steely eye and dogged determination. Nothing could make Director Langston Graham top agent flinch. And yet, a special kind of terror she had never felt before gripped her when Megan turned back around in her seat and looked up into her face. The little girl's face had turned white and tears were already pooling in her big blue eyes. "Spy Barbie is gone," she whispered. When she blinked, two fat tears squeezed their way through her wet eyelashes and coursed down her cheeks.

Sarah felt her middle roil with alarm. To herself as much as to Megan, she said, "Don't panic, sweetie. Let's think this through." She turned to Chuck. "Did Megan hand Spy Barbie to you?"

He frowned and shook his head. "No, why?" He immediately closed his book when he saw Megan's tear-streaked face.

"We're having trouble locating her at the moment," Sarah said with a calmness she didn't feel.

"Oh," he said, looking into her face, his eyes widening. "Did you give her to Lizzie?"

Megan wagged her head slowly back and forth. "I already asked." She dragged her arm across her red nose, which was now losing fluid at about the same rate as her eyes.

"Did you give her to one of your brothers?" Chuck ventured. Megan shot him a fierce scowl and the red blotches around her eyes deepened. "Sorry. Silly question."

Grasping at straws, Sarah asked, "Did you put her in your suitcase before we checked it?" She already knew the answer to that. Megan had never traveled without access to Spy Barbie.

The shake of Megan's head was barely perceptible. Utterly despondent, her lower lip trembled as the tears now flowed freely. There was neither a tantrum nor wailing. Megan's grief went beyond that. She was overwhelmed by a silent, deep and profound sadness.

Sarah's heart ached for her little girl. When Megan's head landed on Sarah's lap when her niece slumped over sideways—her seatbelt still in place across her lap—all she could do was gently stroke her hair in solace. They stayed like this for a while, Chuck and Sarah taking turns comforting her as best they could. When the flow of tears slowed and finally ceased, Megan lifted her head off of Sarah's lap and slumped down in her seat. She picked up GI Joe and stood him on her thigh so that he faced her.

"Joe was sad," Megan said somberly to herself. "Really, really sad. Why was he sad? Because Spy Barbie was gone and he didn't know where she was. Had the Snakes kidnapped her and taken her to their dungeon? Did she get clunked on the head and now she didn't know where she was? Maybe she went on a secret mission and couldn't tell Joe where she went." She walked the doll across to her other leg. "All Joe knew was that he was going to find Barbie no matter what. But how? He called her on her phone, but she didn't answer. He looked for her purple dot on the map on his phone, but it wasn't there. He talked to people Barbie knew, but they didn't know where she was either." A scowl appeared on her face as she continued, "Joe punched the man who said maybe Barbie left him on purpose. Joe knew Barbie would never leave him on purpose, even if he did sometimes forget to fill her car up with gas after he drove it."

Sarah cut her eyes over to her husband and had to stifle a giggle when she watched his eyebrows shoot up. Megan had apparently overheard Sarah point out to him on more than one occasion that the Porsche's gas tank was nearly empty after he had driven it. Based on the sheepish look he now wore, she had the feeling that wasn't going to be an issue once they returned home to Colorado.

Megan's attention turned toward Fred when he snickered at something he was watching on his phone. After staring at her brother for a moment, she picked up her story. "And then one day, he knew what had happened to Spy Barbie. He remembered the funny blue phone box that had suddenly appeared. When the box disappeared, Barbie did, too. Joe knew that he had to wait for the blue box to bring Barbie back." Suddenly exhausted, Megan put her head back down on Sarah's lap, tucked GI Joe under her arm and fell asleep.

When Megan's breathing became deep and regular, Sarah leaned over to Chuck and said, "So now Spy Barbie is Doctor Who's companion? What do we do with _that_?"

Chuck heaved a deep sigh in response. "I sure didn't see that coming either." Gazing down at the sleeping girl, he said, "Maybe this is a way for her to cope. If she thinks Spy Barbie is just off with the Doctor, she'll come back someday."

Arching an eyebrow, Sarah said, "Let's just keep the fact that nothing ever good happens at the end for the companions to ourselves."

"Good point." He bounced his eyebrows and grinned at her. "And for the record, I can't believe it's possible, but when you talk nerdy like that, I somehow love you even more." He leaned in and gave her a kiss.

With her face inches from his, she gave him a brilliant smile. "I guess those Klingon lessons I'm taking are going to pay off for me, then." When he didn't move, she chuckled and whispered, "Chuck, blink."

After a moment, he roused himself to focus on her again.

"Happy place?" she softly asked.

"Nah. Working on how we can join the Mile High Club," he whispered back.

"I'm afraid our children might notice our absence," Sarah deadpanned.

"Totally worth it," he said without hesitation.

She clapped a hand over her mouth when her giggle caused Megan to heave a sigh and shift a little. "What do we do about our current Barbie dilemma?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea. She's never dealt with anything like this before. I guess we play it by ear."

"Do you think she'd be okay with a new Spy Barbie?"

"It might be our only option." He considered her for a moment and said with a sly smile, "You know, if you gave the new Spy Barbie a really cool backstory, like she's some kind of German double agent or something, it might help raise her enthusiasm level."

"You mean if we bought her in Berlin, she'd be _Spion Barbie_?"

"Yes!" he said in an enthusiastic whisper.

"She'll still miss her original Spy Barbie, though," Sarah pointed out.

"Yeah, she will. But maybe over time, the new one will be okay. It's all we can do. We'll get a new Barbie in Berlin as soon as we can."

"In the meantime, I'll work up an interesting dossier for _Spion Barbie_ and I can't believe I just said that," she said with a grin.

"_Dochters_," he said with a soft smile.

She hooked a finger through her sleeping niece's hair and gently pulled it away from her neck. Looking back into his face, she nodded and sighed, "_Dochters_."

~ O ~

There had been another round of tears when Megan woke up from her nap to find Joe clutched in her fist rather than Spy Barbie. However, with a serious amount of diversions and a big bag of snacks, they were able to distract her from her troubles. By the time the plane landed, the flow of tears had once again been staunched. While the smile wasn't back, the overwhelming sadness was lifting.

It took three minivans to transport the family and their luggage from the airport to the hotel located on the tree-lined boulevard at the western edge of the Tiergarten. It was a surprise to no one that the sleeping arrangements were very similar to what they had been in Paris. While the rest of the rooms each had one double bed and a sofa bed to accommodate all of the occupants, Chuck and Sarah's room had a roll away bed. Megan was excited to see that her bed was indeed a bed, rather than a mattress on the floor. It was even more exciting to see that it folded up when not in use.

They had barely rolled Megan's suitcase into the room when she had it open and found Dani, the doll Carina had sent her months before. While Chuck and Sarah helped get the other kids settled in their rooms—and double checked with each one that they didn't have Spy Barbie—Megan sat on their bed and had GI Joe tell Dani the sad story of Barbie's disappearance. From the doorway adjoining theirs and the girls' room, Chuck and Sarah caught the end of the story as Megan choked up over her loss.

"Where are we going to find a Barbie?" Chuck whispered.

She took him by the hand and pulled him into the corner of the girls' room so they could talk without Megan overhearing. "There's a big department store not far from here called KaDeWe. It's the biggest department store in on the Continent. I already checked and they sell Barbie stuff there."

"Should we go there before or after we find someplace to eat?" Chuck asked. "The boys are already complaining that they're starving."

Chuckling, she said, "What else is new?" She glanced at her watch. "It is dinnertime. The sixth and seventh floors at KaDeWe have food. Why don't we go there to eat? Then at some point, I'll sneak down to the toy section on the fifth floor and buy _Spion Barbie_."

"Why do you get to go buy it and not me? I happen to have excellent taste in Barbies."

At her raised eyebrow, he babbled, "Oh! No! That didn't come out right. What I meant was that I was the one who bought Barbie for her in the first place, and it was a hit."

"Nice save," she said with a wry smile. "I'll go. You don't get to go wandering around by yourself." Seeing his face fall, she put a hand on his cheek and said, "I know you're tired of having to have someone with you everywhere you go."

He nodded and looked at her hopefully. "Just this one time?"

Dropping her hand to his chest, she said, "For the sake of argument, what if I said yes? I assume most of the people that work there speak English, but just in case you run into someone who doesn't, how's your German?"

Grinning, he answered, "It's excellent! _Auf Wiedersehen_. _Oktoberfest. Wiener Schnitzel_."

"You're practically a native speaker," she said, mirroring his huge smile.

"Who knows? Maybe I'll be able to string a whole sentence together by the time we leave Berlin."

"I've got one you should learn right now."

"Yeah?"

She looked into his eyes and said softly, "_Ich liebe dich_."

The tender look on his face told her there was no need to translate. He kissed her and then repeated with a small smile, "_Ich liebe dich_, too."

~ O ~

KaDeWe turned out to be like a shopping amusement park. It was huge and had something for everyone. Upon setting foot in the store, Bridget immediately announced that she had died and gone to heaven. It took a lot of dragging and cajoling by Fred, Curtis and Casey to keep her moving up the escalators since she wanted to stop and look at every purse, shoe and dress along the way. They did finally make it to the seventh floor where it was Fred and Curtis' time to stop and stare. It turned out to be an even better choice than Sarah knew when they made their plans. Dinner was a buffet, which meant everyone could eat whatever they wanted, and as much as they wanted. Casey, Morgan, Fred and Curtis took advantage and loaded their plates full and often.

The large metal and glass arched atrium sat hundreds of people, so they had no problem finding a table where all eleven of them could sit together. They weren't able to score a table to get a nice view of Berlin, but it didn't seem to matter since food was at the top of the list in importance.

After a finishing her first round of food, Sarah excused herself and hurried down to the toy section. If she had more time, she would have loved to peruse the traditional German toys—or do some Christmas shopping even though it was only June—but she was on a mission that needed to be completed quickly.

Scanning the floor, a sea of pink caught her eye. She knew what that meant. The first time she'd walked into the Barbie area of a store, the sheer number of different kinds of dolls and all of the various accessories made her want to head for the sporting good section and look at the firearms. Thankfully, this time she was just looking for a doll. _How hard could that be?_ Pretty hard, it turned out. Studying the shelves, her head spun with the number of different dolls available. She wished Chuck was there to help her choose. He did have a lot more experience with this kind of thing than she did.

Focusing on her task, she ignored the "collectibles" and went for the Barbies that little girls actually played with. She chuckled when she saw Mermaid Barbie. Definitely not. After several moments of deliberation, she finally settled on a Barbie that looked as close to the lost one as she could find. The hair was a little longer than original Spy Barbie, but it was definitely much better than nothing. She paid for the doll and stuffed the box in her purse. It was always so surreal to her, the things she now carried in her bag. This time, it was a Barbie right next to her Smith & Wesson. Being a parent _and_ a spy made for an interesting life.

Purchase secured, she flew back up the escalators to the restaurant and returned to her seat at the their table. She made sure to snag a piece of apple crumb cake to keep up the charade of having spent all that time at the buffet.

"Mission accomplished?" Chuck asked.

"Mm-hmm. It wasn't easy. There are a lot of different ones to choose from." She pushed the plate of cake toward him so they could share it.

"You were gone a long time, Aunt Sarah," Martie observed. "Did you have a hard time picking the dessert you wanted?"

"They all looked so tasty." She took a bite of the cake. It really was fantastic. "I think I made the right choice."

She held up a forkful for Chuck to taste. "Wow! That is good," he said and leaned forward, mouth already starting to open again.

Laughter rolled across the table when she pulled the plate back in front of her and said, "On second thought, you'd better go get your own."

~ O ~

Megan, freshly bathed and in her pajamas, sat cross legged on her folded down roll-away bed. With one doll in each hand, Megan's voice rose and fell in pitch as she had GI Joe and Dani engage in a serious discussion about how to find Spy Barbie.

"I thought you said she went in the TARDIS with Doctor Who," Megan said in a high voice and moving Dani as she talked. "I did," she had Joe reply, "but now I'm not sure. I think she's lost her memories and is wandering around the airport in Amsterdam all alone. I must go back and find her."

Sarah sat on the bed, her legs bent with a yellow legal pad propped on her lap, listening to Megan's tale. She always enjoyed Megan's creativity when telling her Barbie stories, but this one made her sad. Shaking off the pall, she went back to work, writing down an interesting background for _Spion Barbie_ and the fantastic missions she'd been on. She would, however, never tell which ones came from her own past and which ones she'd made up. She was about to write down the story about mud wrestling with Carina—well, Dani—when there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, she found Agent Barstow standing there. When her eyes locked on the item in his hand, she nearly threw her arms around him with happiness. Instead, she smiled and invited him in.

"Good evening, ma'am," he said as he entered the room. Chuck, having apparently heard Barstow's voice from where he was hanging out in the girls' room, came in to see what was going on. The girls clustered at the door between the two rooms to watch. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I thought Megan would like this back." He crossed the room and held Spy Barbie out.

The little girl's eyes lit up. "You found her!" She stood up on her bed and bounced, clapping her hands with glee. Then she bounced from her bed to Chuck and Sarah's. Bounding across it, she took another big bounce and launched herself at him. Thankfully, he had quick reflexes and caught her midair, the doll still in his hand. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Agent Barstow!" She kissed his cheek and then wiggled to get down. Looking vaguely uncomfortable, he set Megan back on her feet on the bed and handed her the doll. Megan, still grinning from ear to ear, hugged Spy Barbie, jumped to the floor and leapt onto her bed. There was then a happy reunion between Spy Barbie and GI Joe.

Surprised by this turn of events, Sarah asked, "How did you end up with Spy Barbie?"

"I found the doll lying on the checkout counter at that shop near the gate at the airport. My assumption is that she put it down to look at something and then forgot to pick it up again. When I came to the register to pay for my items, I saw it there so I picked it up and put it in my jacket pocket. By the time I left the shop, the family had already boarded the plane and I was distracted by being late and," he hesitated for a moment and then said, "other things. I'm sorry. I forgot it was in my pocket until I found it there a few minutes ago. I brought it over right away." He stood tall and threw his shoulders back. Pinning his stare on the wall behind Sarah, he said, "I apologize for any difficulties inflicted on you and Megan by the lapses in the performance of my duties. I take full responsibility for my inaction and am fully prepared to accept any correctional and disciplinary measures you deem appropriate, ma'am."

Sarah considered him for a moment. How this straight-laced, stand up man standing in front of her had ended up with Carina last night she couldn't fathom. And the fact that Carina seemed smitten by her polar opposite both amused and confused her. She couldn't deny that she indeed saw the electricity that seemed to arc between the two whenever they were in the same room. She had seen it both at breakfast that morning and at the train station later. It would be interesting to see where this led, if anywhere, for the two agents.

"No problem, Scott," Chuck said into the silence. "You actually rescued Spy Barbie, right? No harm, no foul."

Barstow shook his head. "The situation was caused by my lack of focus and concentration. I can't afford that on protection detail. Ask your wife, sir. She'll tell you."

"He's right, Chuck," Sarah said. "But I appreciate your professionalism and willingness to be corrected, Agent," she continued, looking at eyes that were still focused on the wall behind her, "especially since I don't think it will happen again. If anything, you're the hero of the day." Barstow relaxed slightly and dropped his gaze to hers. "The main thing is that the doll has been found and returned, thanks to you."

Chuck clapped Barstow on the back and said, "Thanks, Scott."

"You're welcome, sir." To Sarah he said, "If there's nothing else, I'm going to hit the rack. Vegas has the first watch."

"Of course. Good night."

As Barstow moved toward the door to leave, Megan jumped off her bed, sprinted across the room and hugged him around his waist. "Thanks," she said, beaming up at him. Just as quickly, she let go and jumped back onto her bed.

With a tight nod, he said, "Good night, miss," and slipped out the door.

Now that the case of the missing Spy Barbie was over, Megan's sisters all breathed sighs of relief and went back to their room. Sarah took Chuck's hand and pulled him into the doorway where the girls had stood second before. In a quiet voice, she asked, "Now that Spy Barbie is back, what do we do with _Spion Barbie_?"

"Can't hurt to have a backup, just in case. We still have a few more stops on our trip. Barbie could go AWOL again."

"True. And if we do manage to get home with Team Barbie intact, there's always Christmas."

Chuckling, he said, "Do you really think our little spy wouldn't find it before then?"

She eyed him with amusement. "I'm pretty good at hiding things when I need to."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that," he answered, lacing his fingers together at the small of her back and pulling her to him. "Keeping secrets from your husband, Mrs. Bartowski?"

Thinking back on his mysterious "errand" with Bridget the day of the tournament in Amsterdam, she said, "Not any more than whatever you might be keeping from your wife, Mr. Bartowski."

"Touché," he said with a small smile. "Don't worry. All will be revealed… eventually." She followed his gaze when it drifted to their youngest happily playing with Barbie and Joe.

"It wasn't the same when you were gone," Megan had Joe say to Barbie. "But everything's okay now."

Sarah heaved a contented sigh and nodded when Chuck whispered, "Boy, isn't that the truth."

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: Thank you to **Aerox** for his help with all things Dutch throughout the Amsterdam chapters. I also must thank him for pointing me toward the song and video _Dochters_. If you would like to see the version used here, go to chuckvsSOM dot blogspot dot com. Be warned. It might get a little dusty around you when you watch it.


	28. Take My Breath Away

**A/N the first: **As always, I'd like to thank everyone for reading, reviewing, tweeting, etc. It means so much to me. I must also give a shout out to those who have recently started reading this story. These brave souls have stared down a story with a word count of over 215,000 and said, "Sure, I'll read that." Thank you.

Thank you to **AgentInWaiting** for his beta skills, patience and insights. He handles all the crazy things I throw his way with aplomb. Thank you to **UKChuckster** for an idea I ran with. Thank you to **Frea** for sharing with me her knowledge of Berlin. And speaking of Berlin, I have **Catrogue** to thank for unwittingly giving me the title of this chapter.

**Chapter 28 – Take My Breath Away**

"There sure is a lot of walking in Europe," Megan said as the family strolled east along the tree-lined boulevard Straße des 17. Juni through the sprawling wooded Tiergarten. They had just been atop the Siegessäule and enjoyed the view from two hundred feet in the air and were now headed toward the famous Brandenburger Tor—or Brandenburg Gate—at the end of the street.

"I don't know what you're complaining about, squirt," Fred said, looking up at his sister. "You've been riding on Uncle Chuck's shoulders since we left the Siegessäule ten minutes ago."

Sarah shook her head. Her nephew had been in high spirits ever since finding out the statue they had visited bore the nicknames of "Golden Lizzy" and "Chick on a Stick". His eldest sister had tolerated the inevitable teasing with good-natured patience. She also knew Lizzie would soon use an opportunity to tease him right back.

"I can't help it if I get tired. I'm only six."

Lisa snorted. "Tired. We barely left the hotel this morning before you were already looking for a ride."

"At least we made it across the canal without Fred falling in," Lizzie said, smirking at her brother.

"Ha-ha," he intoned.

"That _was_ a pretty cool view, even if there were a lot of steps up and down." Martie turned her face up toward Casey clearly hoping he would catch her hint. She giggled when he hoisted her up with one hand, put her on his shoulders and held onto her feet.

"Hey, Aunt Sarah? You said the Prussians put up the Siege—" Curtis scowled when he couldn't finish the word.

"Siegessäule," Sarah said slowly.

"Siegessäule," he repeated. "Anyway, you said that column was put up as a monument by the Prussians for some military victories they had a long time ago. Who are the Prussians?"

"Prussia used to be a large German kingdom," she answered. "It doesn't exist anymore. Berlin was its capital, so we might see some other things today that have to do with Prussia."

"What happened to it?" Bridget asked.

Casey interjected himself. "After World War II, it officially disappeared. At one point, it covered parts of Germany, Poland, Russia and a bunch of other countries."

"Wow, it must have been big," Fred said.

"They always had an impressive army. It was one of major players in European history for a long time." It was clear Casey knew a lot about the subject.

"Berlin is a really historic city. We'll be learning a lot today," Chuck said.

"History is boring," Curtis grumbled.

They reached the end of the boulevard and waited on the corner of Ebertstraße, directly across from the Gate, for the crossing signal to change. "Hey, check out the squatty little guy on the traffic signal." Lisa pointed out the icon of the red silhouette of a man with his arms stretched out to the sides, telling all pedestrians it wasn't safe to cross.

"He's definitely cooler than the boring hand at our crosswalks back home," Fred said.

When the signal changed the kids cheered to see the now green silhouette of the squatty man in full stride. "I like that he has a hat on. It's jaunty," Bridget said with a giggle.

"Nice word, Bridget," Morgan said.

"Thanks. I read it yesterday and just had to use it."

The group stepped into the crosswalk and had almost reached the pedestrian island in the middle of the street when Casey pointed at the two rows of cobblestones lying end-to-end and embedded in the road. The thin brick line stretched as far as they could see to the left and right, following the bends in the street. "Those bricks are where the Berlin Wall was."

"What wall?" Martie asked from her perch on his shoulders.

"I'll tell you about it a little later," Casey said. Everyone made sure to take a good look at the bricks as they stepped over them. Had he not pointed them out, there was a good chance they wouldn't have even noticed them. A chill shot up Sarah's spine when she stepped over the bricks into the area that was once the subjugated East Berlin.

They walked through the center passageway of the Gate and entered the large square on the other side. Turning around, they looked up at the imposing and impressive structure. It was Greek in style and consisted of twelve tall, Doric columns, six on each side and a huge rectangular top piece that sat upon the columns.

"Oh, look at the horses," Megan exclaimed, bouncing on Chuck's shoulders and pointing at the statue on the top of the Gate. Grimacing, he lifted her off his shoulders and set her on her feet.

"The statue at the top is called the Quadriga," Lizzie said as she consulted the phone in her hand, "because it has four horses all lined up next to each other pulling a chariot. It says that's what a 'quadriga' is. Anyway, the lady in the chariot is Victoria, the Roman goddess of…" Smiling she paused and then said in a monotone voice, "Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?"

As if he were using every ounce of brainpower he had, Fred put a finger to his chin and tilted his head to one side. "Let me take a wild guess. Is she the goddess of victory?"

"Ding, ding, ding, ding! Ten points to Mr. Woodcomb."

As the group cheered, Fred made a deep and exaggerated bow. "_Danke_."

Once the cheering subsided, Lisa asked, "So what's the deal about this gate?"

"There was a wall built around Berlin with eighteen gates at different points. These gates were where people would enter and exit the city. It wasn't for protection like the first wall built originally around the oldest part of the city. It was a way for officials to tax the stuff people brought into the city to sell. They taxed things on the way out, too," Sarah said.

"Governments are always trying to figure out new ways to tax people," Casey grumbled.

"What happened to the wall?" Bridget asked.

Martie scowled in confusion. "Is this the wall you were talking about before, Uncle Casey, the one in the street?"

"No, that was a different one," he answered as he swung her off his shoulders.

Curtis stuffed his hands in his pockets. "There sure were a lot of walls."

Laughing, Sarah ruffled his hair. "It's an old city. Things change over the years. The city wanted to grow and expand and the wall got in the way. They dismantled it along with a lot of the gates. They only left the most impressive ones, like this one."

"I think it's neat," Megan said, tipping her head back to look up at the gate. "Can we go see the other ones?"

"No, sadly, we can't." Sarah agreed with Megan. She wished they could go see the other gates, too. "If they weren't already gone, the rest were damaged or destroyed during World War II. The Brandenburg Gate is the only one left."

"I can't believe how close it was to the Berlin Wall," Lizzie said to Sarah, looking through the columns toward Ebertstraße and then up at the Gate. Sarah could tell by the soberness on Lizzie's face that the visit already had an impact on her.

Nodding, she said, "People on the West Berlin side used to climb up on platforms to look over the Wall at the Gate. Once the Wall came down, the Gate became a symbol of not just a reunified Berlin, but also Germany."

After they took pictures of each other in different combinations standing in front of the Gate, they settled down for a rest on some nearby benches.

"Uncle Casey, can you tell me about the wall in the street?" Martie said as she scrambled up to sit next to him.

"Sure, kid." Chuck and Sarah glanced at each other, wondering if they should intervene. After a non-verbal conversation that consisted of raised eyebrows, shrugs and various facial expressions, they decided to let him try to explain Cold War diplomacy to a seven-year-old.

"About seventy years ago, there was a big war with lots of countries fighting each other. The United States, Britain, France and the Soviet Union," he uttered the last name like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "were on one side. They were called the Allies. Nazi Germany, Italy and Japan were on the other. They were named the Axis. After we handed the Nazis their a—" He cleared his throat and started again. "After we beat up the Nazis and won the war, Germany was split up into four sections: one section each for the each of the big Allied countries to run. The U.S., Britain, and France had sections in the west and the Soviets were in the east. Berlin was split up the same way even though it was in the middle of the Soviet sector."

As Casey told his story, the rest of the kids began to migrate closer to him so that they could hear it, too.

"So what was the problem if they were all on the same side?" Curtis asked.

Casey's face twisted into a scowl. "The Soviets were freedom-hating commie bas—er, bad guys. During the war, we put up with them because they eventually turned out to hate the Nazis as much as us. Once the war was over, the Soviets became the enemy—buncha snakes in the grass. The people living in the Soviet sectors—East Berlin and all of East Germany—had socialism imposed on them."

"But why did they need a wall?" Martie still wanted to know.

"Because people didn't want to live in a place where the government was always crawling up their—" He heaved a sigh. "—watched their every move, told them where they would live and what they could do for a living. Over the years, millions of people left and went to live where they could be free."

"That was a good thing, right?" Bridget asked.

"You bet it was. But it looked bad for the Soviets. If what you're doing is so great, why do so many people want to get away from it? They couldn't let people just leave, so they put up barbed-wire fences between East and West Germany in the 1950's to keep people from escaping. But there still wasn't an actual barrier between the free West Berlin and the commie East Berlin."

"Which meant anybody who wanted to sneak out of East Germany could only do it by going from East Berlin to West Berlin," Fred said, his eyebrows rising with understanding.

"Exactly!" Casey said, pointing a finger. Eyes flashing, Casey was obviously enjoying the impromptu history lesson. An unlit cigar came out of his pocket as he continued his story. When he leaned forward as if he had a secret to tell, the seven kids—and Morgan—clustered around him. Megan and Martie stared up at him, their eyes wide with anticipation and their mouths literally hanging open. How much they were actually catching, Sarah didn't know. But they were definitely enthralled.

"Well, of course the commies had to plug that leak, too. Three and a half million people escaping not only made them look bad, but the number of people that could work was getting smaller and smaller. That was bad for their already crappy economy. They knew they had to stop it. So one Saturday night in August of 1961, people went to bed like any other night. The next morning, the streets that were the border between East and West Berlin—like the street we crossed with the bricks in it—were torn up. Guards were stationed everywhere and they put in barbed wire. A few days later, they were already putting up bricks and concrete."

"So the people in East Berlin couldn't get out?" Lisa asked.

"Only if they had permission from the authorities." Casey stuck the cigar in his mouth, crossed his arms and leaned back as if he was done telling the story.

"Hey, you can't stop now. That's not the end of the story." Curtis' comment garnered murmurs of agreement from his siblings.

"Oh, you wanna hear the rest?" Casey asked around the stogie firmly gripped between his teeth. "I thought you said history was boring."

"Not when I'm standing right in it," Curtis said, completely unabashed at the change in his opinion of the subject.

Bridget nodded. "Yeah. What happened to the Wall?"

Casey took the cigar from his mouth and sat tall. "Ronald Reagan, the greatest president of the twentieth century, happened."

"Did he smash it with a hammer or something?" Megan asked, swinging her arm to make her point.

The corners of Casey's mouth curled. "He did, but not at first." He pointed back toward the Gate. "In 1987, right over there, on the West Berlin side of the Wall, he gave a speech. The Soviet Union was having a hard time money-wise and the head guy, Mikhail Gorbachev, knew things had to change. In that speech, Reagan told Gorbachev that he if was really serious about wanting to help the people under communist control to have freedom and decent lives, he needed to get rid of the Wall." Casey leaned forward. His face was perhaps the most animated Sarah had never seen. "Reagan said, 'Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate' and the crowd cheered." The kids hung on his every word. "Then he said, 'Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.'"

"Wow," Martie breathed in awe.

"It took a couple of years, but in November of 1989, the checkpoints were opened and by 1990, most of the Wall had been dismantled. Reagan himself took a hammer to it."

Curtis turned to Chuck and Sarah who sat together on the next bench over. "Uncle Chuck, do you remember any of this?"

"No, not really. I was only about a year older than Martie is right now. I kinda remember bits and pieces, but things were weird at home then. It was around that time that my mom…left." His voice dropped at the end. Sarah gave his hand a supportive squeeze. The pain in his eyes and the choke in his voice whenever his parents' disappearance came up broke Sarah's heart every time. She promised herself she would get to the bottom of that mystery no matter what.

After a brief moment of awkward silence, Morgan spoke up. "If we're done here, the clipboard says we have a couple more things to do in this area. Right over there is the Holocaust Memorial."

"Oh boy, fun stuff," Lizzie said, sounding a bit disheartened.

Seeing her reaction, Sarah grew concerned. "Should we skip it?"

Shaking his head, Chuck said, "No. Like we talked about this morning, it's important for the kids, at least the older ones, to see these things when they have the chance."

She had to agree. She also knew that the memorial was pretty abstract, so it wouldn't be terribly unsettling to the little ones who didn't really understand its significance.

Morgan jumped up from the bench and tapped his watch. "Tick-tock, people. We still have a full day ahead of us. Let's move."

After some moaning and groaning, everyone was up and off the benches and back through the Gate. They turned left and walked along Ebertstraße. Sarah noticed that all the kids peered into the avenue to see the double row of bricks in the street.

The memorial was only a block away and took just a couple of minutes to reach. It was an expanse of large rectangular stones of differing sizes and heights. The gray stones reminded Sarah of coffins or tombstones. It was sobering. She kept a tight grip on Megan's hand while Chuck held onto Martie's. It would be too easy for the two to be lost amongst the maze of slabs.

"Guys, don't go too far," Chuck called out to the other five kids as they started to explore.

"Okay," they said, waving back. The adults kept a watchful eye on the kids as they wandered through the memorial. Eventually, they went out of eyesight amongst the taller stones and when they came back into sight, they were practically running back to the rest of the group.

"That was freaky," Lisa said as she shivered.

Sarah's heart leapt to her throat. "What happened? Did someone approach you? Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah. We're okay. It was nothing like that," Lizzie replied quickly, putting hand on her aunt's arm.

"It's just that when we got back by some of the other, taller stones, we got a little…" Curtis stopped and looked to Bridget for help.

His sister looked back at him, her face still a bit ashen, and said, "Disoriented. We felt kinda lost."

The five kids considered each other and nodded. "We were happy when we saw you and couldn't wait to get back here," Fred said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

Chuck placed a hand on Fred's shoulder. "Based on where we are and what this memorial is about, I think that's kind of the point."

Sarah watched their faces grow somber as they processed Chuck's words. Fred swallowed hard and Lizzie's eyes became glassy as she turned and looked back out over the stone slabs. Lisa stared stoically at a building across the street and Curtis poked at the corner of brick in the ground with his shoe. When Bridget went to stand next to Chuck and put her arm around his waist, Sarah said to Morgan, "I think it might be a good time for us to go have some lunch."

He consulted the clipboard and then checked his watch. "We're supposed to be here for another forty-five…" It only took one look at Sarah's face for him to quickly change course. "We'll change that. Let's have lunch early today." He gave Sarah a nervous smile.

"Great idea," Chuck said. "Does the great and all powerful clipboard say where we're supposed to eat?"

"Yeah, actually. It says it's right around the corner. It's called," he read the words as an American who didn't know any German, "the 'Alt-Berliner Wirtshaus.'"

After hearing the name of the restaurant, Casey gave a curt nod. "Good. I could go for a beer."

"We're going to a bar?" Fred's face shone with more excitement than it had all day.

"No, it's not a bar," Sarah said, letting mock exasperation color her tone. "It's more like a tavern or a pub. If you want to try traditional German food, this will probably be the place."

They left the memorial and started down the sidewalk. "I wonder if this place will look like the Salzburg Essen Platz in Beaver Creek," Lisa said with a sly grin.

"I hope so." Fred picked up on his sister's jab. "'Cause if it's really busy, Uncle Casey can put on some lederhosen and be our waiter."

"Don't hold your breath, kid," Casey said with a grunt.

"I think Uncle Casey was the best waiter _ever_," Martie said, beaming up at him. He had become her hero that day. Sarah knew that there would always be a special place in her niece's heart for the gruff NSA agent. And although he would probably never admit it, she knew Martie was special to him, too.

Sarah looked at Chuck and saw a tiny smile curve on his lips. "Whatcha thinking about, Chuck?" She slipped her free hand in his as they walked along. Watching his smile widen, she knew exactly what he was thinking about. "I seem to recall you really liked the outfits the waitresses wore there."

He cut his eyes toward her and said, "And I seem to recall you saying you would never be caught wearing a getup like that."

"So I changed my mind." With a coy look, she asked, "You're not complaining, are you? I could always take the uniform back."

She laughed when he responded with a quick and emphatic, "Oh, no! No, no! No, no, no!"

"Just keep your eyes off the _fräuleins_, Herr Bartowski."

"Don't worry, Frau Bartowski," he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the back of it. "Why would I look at anyone else when I'm married to the most beautiful woman on earth?"

While she bestowed on him a dazzling smile, Lizzie sighed an amused, "Oh brother." They turned the corner and arrived at the restaurant. "I think that might need to count toward your PDA limit for the day."

Chuck dropped Sarah's hand so he could hold the door open as the family filed in. "You're calling that PDA?" he asked as Lizzie walked past him. "That was pretty mild. I'll have to step up my game the rest of the day."

Lizzie snorted, but her smile beamed. "I'll never win, will I?"

His smile mirrored hers. "Nope. You never will."

Once inside, they only had to wait a few minutes for their table to be set up. Glancing around, Sarah was immediately charmed by the tavern. It had the old world feel she expected with lots of dark wood and antique furnishings. It consisted of several smaller rooms and as they were led to the back room—which was obviously set up for large groups like theirs—she took in the decorations. A wooden shelf lined with colorful biersteins ran across the top of one wall. Below the shelf, the wall was covered with paintings and drawings of Berlin from the past. Above another shelf, which held small metal busts of noble-looking men, were prints of paintings of kings resplendent in their royal regalia. Two pithy German sayings were painted directly onto the wall closest to the table where they sat. Small antique farm implements decorated the rest of the surface.

At first, the kids were dubious about what they would order. However, once Sarah and Casey—who had strategically sat at opposite ends of the table to translate the menu—informed them that everything included potatoes in one form or another, whether it was soup, bread, baked with various toppings, fried in onions and bacon, mashed, roasted, French fried or boiled, they grew more and more enthusiastic. Sarah ordered for everyone by expertly rattling off the menu numbers to the waitress. When their food arrived, the boys nearly bounced in their seats with joy as they observed the huge portions. Going for the full experience, Fred even ordered potato pancakes for dessert.

Once the kids were refueled and carb-loaded, they decided they'd better get moving again before everyone slipped into food comas. The next place they were going to visit was of particular interest to Casey. He tried to set a brisk pace, but the effects of the massive amounts of food recently consumed slowed them a bit. As it was, however, they still made good time and it only took twenty minutes or so to walk the route to the intersection of Friedrichstraße and Zimmerstraße, more famously known as Checkpoint Charlie.

"We walked all the way here to look at an old guard shack?" Curtis asked.

"It's not just any old guard station. This is Checkpoint Charlie," Casey said. Sarah watched him as his eyes swept the area and immediately knew he was more than just a tourist looking at an attraction. There was a mixture of pride and wistfulness on his face as he looked at the replica of the original guard station. "It looks just like the one…" he said before his voice trailed off. A tall stack of sandbags stood in front of the small building on one side. An American flag flying over the checkpoint lifted in the light breeze. A large picture of a young American soldier advised travelers that they were about to cross into the American sector. As they stood on the corner taking in the scene, Casey's eyes were riveted to the picture on the tall pole.

Martie looked at Casey and then at the picture. "Is that Charlie?"

When Casey didn't respond—he clearly hadn't even heard the question—Sarah said, "No, it wasn't named for a person. 'Charlie' is the way they indicate the letter 'c' in the military. This was Checkpoint C, but everyone called it 'Charlie.'"

Casey roused himself and joined the conversation. "After the Wall went up, this was the only place where non-German westerners could get into East Berlin." They crossed the street and approached an unassuming wooden sign that warned them in four different languages that they were entering the American sector. Once they passed the sign, they turned around and looked at the scene from the other side. The wooden sign now warned of leaving the American sector. On the reverse side the same billboard that held the photo of the American soldier, there was a picture of a young Soviet soldier.

"The only way for the Allies to get to West Berlin by land was for them to take the autobahn through commie East Germany. Checkpoint Alpha was at the border of West Germany just before going into East Germany. Checkpoint Bravo was about a hundred miles to the east at the border of East Germany and the American sector of West Berlin." Casey said. "Then they'd drive to Checkpoint Charlie."

"Uncle Casey? How come you know so much about the Berlin Wall and Checkpoint Charlie and stuff?" Fred asked.

Casey stood taller and threw his shoulders back with pride. "My dad was in one of the battalions that rotated in and out of here right after the Wall was built. At one point, he was attached to the Berlin Brigade. He was on duty here at Checkpoint Charlie more than once."

"Whoa! That's cool," Lizzie said. The sudden interest on the faces of her brothers and sisters made it clear that they agreed.

"As a matter of fact, I have a picture of my dad standing right over there," he pointed to the middle of the street, just to the left of the building from where they stood.

"Go stand over there and we'll take a picture," Lizzie directed. "We'll send it to your mom."

For someone who normally eschewed having his picture taken, it took little to cajole him into standing for a photo, not only near the checkpoint, but under the warning sign as well.

When the photo op was over, he said, "He told me about the snowball fights they would have with the East Berlin border guards. They'd get bored when activity was minimal, so they'd start launching snowballs at each other."

"I guess they didn't worry that one of the guards getting a face full of snow was going to start an international incident," Chuck said.

"Nah, by the time he was here, tensions had settled some."

"When was that?" Sarah asked.

Casey looked back at the guard station. "It was about 1963 or so. I was just a toddler when he was here."

Lisa snickered. "I'm sorry, Uncle Casey. I'm not laughing at your dad. I just can't picture you as a toddler."

"As a matter of fact," he said, somehow managing to mix amusement with the growl, "I was a cute kid. My mom says so."

"Oh! Well if your _mom_ says so," Fred said, laughing as they walked toward the Museum Haus am Checkpoint Charlie. Once inside, they wandered through the cluttered rooms, learning about the history of the Wall and the people who risked their lives to escape to the west. The kids appreciated the ingenuity of some who tried to escape, especially those who crashed through the Wall in a car or smuggled themselves out inside things. Megan found the story of the person who escaped inside the belly of plastic cow on its way to a fair in West Germany particularly entertaining. The family that used hot-air balloon to float to freedom was particularly moving. Their favorite escape method, however, was the homemade mini-submarine. The man who built it sailed it for five hours across the Baltic Sea to get to Denmark.

As they left the museum and walked toward the U-bahn to take the train back to their hotel, Bridget asked, "Aunt Sarah, which escape was your favorite?"

After a moment of thought, she said, "I liked the one where the guy shot an arrow with a steel cable attached across the Wall and then slid across on a pulley. Very exciting."

Chuck snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. "Why do I have the feeling you've actually done something like that before?" he whispered in her ear.

"I'm not at liberty to say," she teased, bumping him with a hip as they walked together.

"Is it wrong that I wish I could have seen that?"

She sobered. "It's not as much fun as it might sound when people are shooting at you." When she saw concern cloud his face, she said lightly, "How about I take you on a zip line in Costa Rica instead?"

His face relaxed and he hugged her closer. "Deal."

~ O ~

Chuck, Sarah, Morgan huddled in conference while they traveled on the U-bahn, trying to figure out what to do next since they had the rest of the afternoon free according to the all-powerful clipboard. As the kids had been such good sports about all the walking and historical sightseeing, they decided to take them to the Berlin Zoo. Fortunately, the zoo was right next to their hotel, so they swung by there for a rest stop before heading out again. While they were there, Sarah noticed when her husband disappeared for about twenty minutes. When he returned to their room, she saw a twinkle in his eye.

"Chuck, what are you up to?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave her an expectant look. "Sarah, will you go out with me tonight?"

Her heart fluttered. She found herself a bit breathless when she asked, "What?"

"I want to take you out on a date. No kids, no aliases, no spy gear, no missions."

"You mean like a real date?" He was just so adorable. She gazed at him while she considered it. They really had no reason not to go. Although she planned on contacting Harry Chalmers tomorrow to see if he had any new information on Benoit or Frost and Orion, there was nothing urgent on either of their CIA dockets tonight and Casey and Morgan could stay with the kids. "Okay," she answered in a soft voice.

"Really?"

She nodded her head slowly. "Mm-hmm."

A brilliant smile split on his face. "Tonight. Be ready at six-thirty."

"What are we going to do? How should I dress?"

"Bridget will help you once we get back from the zoo."

She was suddenly nervous and excited. While they enjoyed the rest of the afternoon at the zoo, she couldn't stop wondering what her husband had planned for them. She knew she wouldn't be able to get any information out of him, so she tried Morgan. After a couple of questions, she ascertained Chuck hadn't divulged any of his plans to the little bearded guy, so she thought about asking Bridget. She decided against that since she knew that telling Bridget something and then asking her to keep it a secret was like locking it away in a vault. She finally gave up and decided to enjoy the afternoon. The polar bears, gorillas and pandas were a hit with everyone, and Martie and Megan couldn't get enough of the baby animals, especially the baby elephant which was only a few days old.

The zoo was massive and with the limited time they had they didn't get a chance to see everything. That was okay with the kids though, since the younger ones were getting tired from the long day and the older ones were getting hungry for dinner. After a quick walk back to the hotel, Sarah called a local pizzeria and ordered several pizzas to be delivered. Chuck snuck out of their room again while she was on the phone, so she didn't get a chance to ask him where he was going.

She was about to go talk to the girls when Bridget walked through the door linking the two rooms carrying the blue dress her nieces convinced her to buy at the Chanel store in Amsterdam. "Uncle Chuck wants me to help you get ready," she said, carefully laying the dress out on the bed.

Sarah's jaw dropped. "I'm wearing _that_ tonight?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Where are we going?" Seeing Bridget's enigmatic smile, she sighed. "Okay, I officially give up." Moving into the bathroom and standing in front of the mirror, she asked, "Hair up or down?"

Before Bridget could answer, Lizzie walked in and said, "Up."

"Yes, but not too severe," Bridget said, studying her aunt. "Low, messy bun."

As she began to work with her hair, the rest of the girls migrated into the bedroom to watch. Megan sat on the bathroom counter and handed hairpins to her aunt when she called for them. It took a little while and a fair amount of hairspray, but she managed to get her hair into a style she liked.

Turning away from the mirror, she asked, "What do you think?" She received a chorus of ooohs and ahhhs in approval.

"Almost," Bridget said. With her pinkies, she gently pulled at Sarah's bangs, releasing them to softly frame her face. "There."

Looking back into the mirror, Sarah smiled. "Thank you. That's just what it needed." She touched up her makeup, helped Megan down from the counter and went to slip on her dress.

"It's like dressing up a real life Barbie," Megan said, her voice brimming with excitement.

"At least Aunt Sarah won't get lost," Lisa said, tweaking her sister's nose.

"Oh, Spy Barbie, Joe and Dani can't get lost anymore."

"Really?" Sarah asked as she pulled the short sleeves up onto her shoulders. "How come?"

"Uncle Casey stuck tracking devices to them. He has a program on his computer that will find them anywhere if they get lost."

"Anywhere? Those must give off some pretty strong signals," Sarah said, running her hands down the front of the dress to smooth the satiny material.

Megan nodded. "He said they're from his special bag of spy stuff he got from General Beckman. You can hardly see them."

"I like her," Martie interjected. "She's a nice lady, even if she is a general."

"Well, it was nice of Uncle Casey to put those on your dolls for you," Sarah said.

"He said Spy Barbie, Joe and Dani are important assets and we can't afford to lose them."

The older girls smiled at their youngest sister. They all knew the truth. Casey didn't want Megan to go through the trauma of losing her beloved Spy Barbie again.

Sarah sat down on the bed to slip on her shoes. "Where's your Uncle Chuck? I'm almost dressed and he's not even here."

"I'm sure he'll be back soon," Bridget said, once again not giving anything away.

Hearing a knock on the door, Sarah opened it to find a teenaged delivery kid loaded down with a stack of four large pizza boxes. He stared at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed. The ability to speak seemed to completely abandon him. She waited for a moment, hoping he would tell her how much she owed him for the pizzas. Finally, she asked, "_Wie viel?_"

After he managed to pull himself together enough to tell her the amount, she left the door open to get her purse. "I'll get the pizzas," Lizzie said. "I don't want to take the chance of you getting anything on your dress." She gave the pizza kid a friendly smile as she took the boxes from him. If he was stunned when he saw Sarah at the door, adding Lizzie to the mix caused him to become completely motionless. Like a statue, he held his hands out as if he were still holding the boxes.

Lisa walked over to the door. "Here, Liz, let me help," she said and lifted the top two boxes off the stack. Trying out some German, Lisa smiled and said, "_Guten abend_." The girls then carried the pizzas away. As Sarah returned to the door with the money, she noted the boy was still frozen like a statue. Having seen her beautiful nieces, Sarah was a bit concerned that his brain might have actually short-circuited. She placed the euros into his upturned palm, used her hand to physically curl his fingers around the money, said a quiet, "_Danke_" and shut the door. "I wonder how long he's going to stand out there like that?" Sarah said with a chuckle. "I think you girls broke him."

"Us?" Lizzie snorted. "Have you _seen_ you right now?"

Sarah brushed a hand over the dark sapphire blue satin that hugged her waist and glanced down at the flowing skirt that gathered on the floor. "What? This old thing?" she said with a smirk.

Laughing, Lisa said, "Yeah, right."

Lizzie looked through the peephole in the door to see if the delivery boy had left. He had, so she opened the door and said, "We're going to eat in the boys' room. If it ends up messy with pizza boxes, no one will notice." Lizzie and Lisa walked out the door and down the hall with Bridget, Martie and Megan trailing behind.

"No kids," Sarah said softly to herself as she watched the door close. Sitting down on the bed, she transferred from her larger bag into a smaller clutch her Sarah Bartowski wallet and passport. "No aliases," she murmured. Digging through her bag, she saw the box that held her earwig. Chuckling, she said, "No spy gear," and left it where it was. She thought about strapping on her ankle holster, but decided against it. "No missions," she reminded herself. She wasn't going to leave the hotel completely unarmed, however. "Since this is a real date, I'll keep the weaponry to a minimum. Only one knife and gun," she mumbled to herself as she slipped her Smith & Wesson into the clutch.

She glanced at the clock and realized it was almost six-thirty. There was no way they were going to leave on time since Chuck hadn't even changed his clothes yet. Starting to grow concerned, she picked up her phone from the nightstand and was about to text him to find out where he was when there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, she expected to see one of the kids. She didn't. Rather, Chuck stood before her, wearing a tuxedo, white dress shirt with black onyx shirt studs and a black bowtie.

Stunned, she stared at him, her mouth agape.

"Sarah, breathe," he said. The smile revealed how pleased his effect on her was.

She felt herself blink a couple of times but was still unable to speak.

"May I come in?" he asked. Blinking a couple of times, she nodded and moved out of the way so he could enter. She closed the door and turned. His back was to her and she purred a little hum of approval at his wide shoulders and tight—

"Are you checking me out, Mrs. Bartowski?" he asked as he turned around and caught her eyeing him.

Raising her eyes to meet his, she felt her cheeks grow warm. She threw her shoulders back and answered with an unapologetic, "Yes."

His smile broadened and then disappeared. Complete awe overcame his face when he looked her up and down. "Oh, Sarah…" he whispered.

Now it was her turn to beam with pride at the response from him. She decided to give him the full treatment by turning around and showing him the back—or lack thereof—of the dress. While the front was a straight neckline from shoulder to shoulder, the rear was a deep, plunging V that stopped just above the small of her back. She glanced over her shoulder to see his mouth move but it only made a gurgling noise. It turned out that Bridget was right. There was a time when she would have the opportunity to wear the dress here in Europe and it did indeed knock Chuck's socks off.

"You like it?" She turned back around, bent a knee, and rested her hands on her hips.

He blinked a couple of times and the smile returned. Taking her hand, he pulled her to him and kissed her. She melted under the heat and intimacy of his hand on her bare back.

"Are you sure we need to go out?" she mumbled against his lips. "Maybe if we're really quiet…"

He laughed and kissed her again. "I promised you a real date and that's what you're going to get." He took a half step back. "We can go as soon as you're ready."

"I am ready. I was just waiting for you," she said.

"Your earrings."

Her hand shot up to an earlobe, checking one and then the other. Both had diamond studs securely in place. "I'm wearing earrings." _What is he talking about?_

"Not the right ones." He put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box, shaded robin egg blue, with a white ribbon tied in a bow at the top. Her breath caught. She knew that color meant only one store. "Tiffany," she said in quiet reverence.

He held out the box for her to take. Reaching out, she removed it from his hand and simply held it in hers for a moment. Her heart thumped as she pulled at one end of the white ribbon and undid the bow. As she lifted the lid from the box, he said, "It was almost one year ago that a smart, courageous, warm, loving, beautiful CIA agent came to my house and saved me."

Hands trembling and vision blurry with tears, she looked into the box. "Oh, Chuck, they're exquisite."

"I wanted to wait to until the actual day to give these to you as your anniversary present," he said shyly, "but I just couldn't wait."

She carefully took one of the earrings out of the box and held it up. Its magnificence and beauty was breathtaking. At the center was a round sapphire, the color of which nearly matched her dress perfectly. Like a pinwheel, eight smaller marquis cut sapphires—nestled in a ring of diamonds—surrounded the center gem. The sapphire seemed to glow a mesmerizing blue and the diamonds sparkled and flashed when they caught the light.

"Do you like them?"

Nodding, she whispered, "I love them. I don't know what to say. They're simply stunning. Thank you." She took out the studs she was wearing and put in the new earrings.

He took another step back and studied them. "_Du bist sehr schön_," he said with a smile.

"_Danke_." She swiped at the moisture under her eyes and cleared her throat.

"See? I told you I'd be able to string a whole sentence together. I figure since I'm married to you, I need to know how to say, 'You are very beautiful' in as many languages as I can." Grinning he added, "Thank you, Google Translate."

"You're looking pretty _schön_ yourself, handsome." She stepped forward and straightened his bowtie. "But you're not quite ready to go, either."

His brows knit together. Holding his arms out, he looked down to see what he might have missed. "It's not like I don't have pants on."

Snickering, she walked over to her suitcase lying open on the floor and knelt down. She stuck her hand down under the pile of clothes at the back corner of the suitcase and pulled out a box. Returning to stand in front of him, she gazed up and said, "I was going to give this to you on the anniversary of the day I stepped into your house—the day my life changed forever—but I think now is the perfect time."

She held her breath and searched his face as she slowly flipped the box open, revealing a Cartier watch. The case of the watch was brushed steel with a black dial. Roman numerals were engraved around the outside of the face and the band was black rubber and brushed steel. Once the shock receded, a smile formed on Chuck's face.

Allowing herself to breathe again, she handed over the box for him to hold in his right hand while she took his left. "I know how much you like your watches to multitask," she said as he unfastened the watch currently around his wrist and tossed it on the bed. She took the box back from him and removed the Cartier. Slipping it on over his hand and closing the clasp around his wrist, she said, "This one doesn't have a calculator function on it, but it has three other smaller dials on the face that do stuff. I hope those fulfill your need for multitasking."

He held his wrist up so he could admire the watch. "Sarah, it's fantastic. I love it. Thank you." He surprised her when he tugged her into his arms and gave her a passionate kiss. She responded immediately with her own zeal. The kiss ended too soon for her when he broke it and said, "Happy anniversary."

She got in another kiss. "Happy anniversary."

"And now we have to go. We don't want to be late." He stepped over to the door and held it open for her.

"Late for what?" She picked up her purse from the bed and walked out the entrance.

"All will be revealed in good time. Let's go say goodbye to the kids."

They walked down to the boys' room and knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Casey holding a piece of pizza in his hand. "Oh, look. The McFancyPants are here," he said before taking another giant bite of pepperoni pizza.

"That's Mr. and Mrs. McFancyPants to you," Chuck said. The kids were scattered all around the room, contentedly munching on dinner.

Bridget scrutinized them and then smiled. "You two look great. I like your earrings, Aunt Sarah."

"Thank you." She suddenly realized what the grin on Bridget's face meant. "And now I know where you and Uncle Chuck went the day of the tournament in Amsterdam."

Their niece beamed. "He wanted me to help pick out the color of earrings that would go with the dress."

"They're perfect. Thank you."

"And look what I got." Chuck held out his wrist for all to see.

"Nice," Fred said around the food in his mouth.

"Awesome," Lizzie said. "You gave him your anniversary present."

"Mm-hmm. It just kind of worked out that way."

"What anniversary?" Morgan asked. "You two got married in October. It's only June."

"The anniversary of when Aunt Sarah came to live with us," Lisa answered.

Martie gave Casey a sad look. "Uncle Casey didn't get a present."

"The actual anniversary isn't for a couple of weeks yet, right?" Curtis said. "I'm sure we can find something really _awesome_ for him."

"That's okay," Casey said. It was clear he was already uncomfortable with the idea from the grimace on his face. "We can skip it."

The kids all started talking over each other in response. They weren't going to skip it.

"Guys, we're outta here. You listen to Uncle Casey and Uncle Morgan. We won't be back too late," Chuck said in his best parenting voice.

Lizzie wiped her hands on a napkin, jumped off the bed and threaded her way through one brother and two sisters sitting on the floor. She hugged Sarah and then tugged on Chuck's lapel. "You two have fun, but not too much fun," she said with mock sternness. "Let us know when you get there. And we expect you back by midnight." Her siblings snickered behind her. "If it's going to be later, call. You know how we worry."

"Yes, _mom_," Chuck replied, heaving a put-upon sigh and rolling his eyes. "Can we go now?"

"Yes, you can go." Grinning, Lizzie hugged her uncle. "I love you both," she said quietly as she went to hug Sarah again. "Have a great time."

"Thanks," Chuck said. "We will." He took Sarah's hand. To everyone they called out, "Bye!" and then started down the hall toward the elevator.

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, they stepped on and Chuck pushed the button for the fourteenth floor.

"Up?" Sarah asked with surprise.

"Mm-hmm." He kept his eyes pinned on the indicator as the floor numbers changed.

When the elevator reached the fourteenth floor, it binged again and the doors slid open. Met by the maître d' they were immediately seated at a candlelit table by a window that overlooked the city.

"I should go out on a date with you more often. You know how to show a girl a nice time."

"Just wait. There's more," he said in a matter-of-fact tone as he scanned the menu.

She knew asking him about it would get her nowhere, so she kept her questions to herself.

A waiter approached their table. Before Sarah could say anything, Chuck spoke up. "_Sprechen Sie Englisch?_" She was surprised at his boldness—and more than a little impressed—by his sudden usage of German.

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent my good man. Here's the thing." He leaned forward a bit and dropped his voice. "We need to leave here by seven-thirty."

The waiter frowned. "We usually like to allow our guests to enjoy a full evening of fine dining."

"Yes, I understand and I'm sure it's very nice. It's just that we need to be somewhere." He gave the man the universal "I'm-trying-to-keep-this-secret-from-my-wife as-long-as-I-can" look.

Apparently the odd facial expression worked. The waiter's frown disappeared and he gave Chuck a discreet smile. "Of course." With a small bow, he asked, "Would madame like something to drink before you order?"

"Just water for me, please."

Chuck nodded. "Make it two."

The waiter bowed again and disappeared. They spent the next few minutes looking over the menu and sneaking peeks at the food at the tables around them. What they saw were aesthetically pleasing, small portions on extremely large plates.

They leaned in toward each other and whispered over the tops of their menus. "The food here looks like the exact opposite of what we had at lunch," Chuck said.

"Yeah, I don't think the boys would get enough to eat here." As if to make Sarah's point, a waitress walked past carrying a large white plate. At the center sat a tiny strip of salmon atop a thin rectangle of sushi, which floated on a thin layer of white foam. "It does look tasty. Besides, I'm happy to eat a little lighter tonight."

"Works for me, too." After examining the menu for a bit longer, and having a short conversation about what exactly "kohlrabi" was—Sarah described them as mutant Brussels sprouts—Chuck decided to have the salmon, even if that particular vegetable would decorate the plate in some fashion. Sarah ordered the halibut.

Their waiter brought their food to the table fairly quickly. "I think the waiter knows there's a serious tip in it for him if we get out of here on time," Chuck observed.

When she took a bite of her fish, it simply melted in her mouth. The flavor was delicate and not "too fishy."

She noticed when Chuck didn't seem to be eating much. Rather, he pushed one of the round, green vegetables around his plate with his fork. "Are you okay? You don't have to eat the kohlrabi if you don't like it."

He glanced up. "Oh, no, it's not that. Well, it kinda is. The fish is excellent, but I could do without the mutant veggies." He loaded some food on his fork and just before putting it in his mouth, he asked in a quiet voice, "I've been thinking about us."

Her brow furrowed. "What about us?"

"You asked me a question about a week ago at the pâtisserie in Paris, just before Curtis fell backward in his chair and clunked his head."

Her stomach did a little flip and her pulse quickened. "Oh, right. I remember."

"What do you think? Can we talk about," he hesitated and finally said what both of them had been dancing around for a while, "you and me having a baby? Because it seems like every time we start to talk about—"

The waiter approached their table. "I hope you're enjoying your dinners. Is there anything you require?"

Sarah had to bite her lips together to keep from laughing. Chuck grinned up at him and answered, "No, thank you. Everything is great."

"Very well," the waiter said and then left.

"See?" He shook his head and chuckled. "All I want to do is ask if you think you might be ready to have a baby someday soon. It seems like there's a very good chance I'll never be able to ask that, isn't there?"

"Yes."

"I guess it's just one of those—"

"No, Chuck." She waited until she had his full attention. With a voice soft and sure, she looked into his eyes and said, "Yes."

"Wha—, uh, what?"

"Chuck, I'm ready." She dropped her gaze to her plate and then looked back at him. "Ready when you are, anyway, because I kind of can't do this by myself."

"Really?" His smile grew, faltered and then returned. "What about your job?"

She shrugged and took another bite of food. "We'll figure something out. Maybe I'll take an extended leave of absence. Who knows? I may even decide to retire."

He rested his fork on his plate, reached across the table and took her hand. "Sarah, please know I'm not asking you to do that."

Squeezing his fingers, she said, "I know you're not. Let's not worry about that yet. Who knows how long it might take for me to even get pregnant?"

He bounced his eyebrows. "We'll just have to be diligent."

"Mm-hmm."

"Are we, you know, officially 'trying?'" His face beamed with excitement.

Somehow, she thought she'd be more freaked out about this decision, but she wasn't. If anything, she felt the same kind of excitement her husband clearly was experiencing. Smiling, she said, "I guess we are."

He grinned back at her. Apparently his appetite had returned because he picked up his fork and attacked his food with zeal.

"One thing, though."

"Mm-hmm?" He even smiled when he chewed his food.

"Can we not tell people about this? I really don't want the pressure. Plus, do we really want to announce something like this to the kids who do know what it means and have to explain it to the kids who don't?"

"Excellent point. Okay, it'll be our secret," he said.

She pointed her fork at his empty plate. He'd demolished his food. "Your appetite picked up."

"I need to keep my strength up."

He was certainly excited about their decision. Laughing out loud, she said, "Was this all part of your plan? We're sneaking back to our room after all?"

"No!" At her arched eyebrow, he clarified, "Not that that would be a bad thing, of course. It would be a little dangerous though. I mean, it is Megan's room too and—"

"Chuck."

He shook his head as if trying to tame the thoughts swirling around in his brain. "What I mean is, I promised you a date. We have plenty of time for the other. Besides, with you looking so gorgeous, it would be a crime if Berlin didn't get to see you."

The color rose in her cheeks at his compliment.

Their dinners finished, the waiter returned and removed their plates. "Would you like to see the dessert menu?"

"No, thank you," Chuck said. His eyes flashed with anticipation. "We have someplace we need to be." Looking from Sarah to the waiter, he added, "We might be back later this evening for some dessert, though."

"I look forward to seeing you then." He discreetly placed the check on the table and left.

Once the bill was paid and their waiter received a generous tip, they took the elevator to the lobby. All eyes were on them as they strode hand-in-hand toward the entrance of the hotel. Waiting for them in the driveway was a black S-class Mercedes with a white-gloved driver standing next to it. He opened the back and greeted them with a nod and a "_Guten abend_" as first Sarah and then Chuck slid into the back seat. The door closed behind them. The chauffeur hurried around the front of the car and took his seat behind the wheel. The engine purred to life and they were on their way.

"What, no stretch limo?" Sarah teased.

"It had to be a Mercedes. We're in Germany. It just seemed wrong to be driven around Berlin in a Lincoln."

"Mm-hmm," she answered distractedly. Curiosity was nearly killing her now. She looked out the window as they drove down the street. Turning toward him, she asked, "_Now_ will you tell me where we're going?"

He took her hand in both of his and pulled it onto his lap. "Almost a year ago, you—a smart, cultured woman who has traveled the world and speaks practically every language there is—were dropped into a sea of 'nerdery.' We nerds have been slowly assimilating you into the collective. And the fact that you just chuckled at that proves my point."

Her eyes stayed on his as she waited for him to continue.

"I want tonight to be about what you like."

She felt herself sit forward in anticipation.

He suddenly looked unsure. "At least, I hope you like it. We're going to the Komische Oper Berlin to see a production of _The Magic Flute_."

She let out a surprised gasp. "We are? Chuck, that's… amazing. You're so sweet." She squeezed the hands that held hers. "I'm really excited about this. I love _The Magic Flute_."

Heaving a sigh, she watched his whole body relax as he leaned back. "You do? What a relief. Opera is way outside my nerd wheelhouse."

"You picked an excellent one. Thank you." She leaned in and gave him a kiss. "I'm afraid you may not enjoy it much, though. It's sung in German."

To her surprise, he sat up straighter, his face eager. "No, it's okay. I read up on it on the Internet. I may not understand the words, but I know what the story's about."

It touched her very soul to hear Chuck—her comic book reading, Star Wars loving nerd—excitedly recount what he'd learned of the noble Tamino and his beloved Pamina, lovers who had to go through separation and trials before they can be together, and Papageno, the simple bird catcher who ends up going along on the adventure. "It turns out there's a lot of Freemasonry stuff in it that I don't really get, but you know. Whatever."

"That's the spirit," she said with a laugh. Her smile faded a bit as she searched his face. "Chuck, you amaze me. How did you manage all of this—the tuxedo, tickets to the opera, dinner at a fancy restaurant, the car? We just got to Berlin yesterday."

He looked down as he rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "I wish I could take credit for everything but I can't. You can do just about anything when you get hooked up with a good concierge."

Her eyes flashed with understanding. "So _that's_ where you disappeared to before we went to the zoo. You were setting all this up with the concierge."

"Yeah. Like I said, I can't take credit for it."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "I'm not so sure about that. It was your idea to go to the opera in the first place, right?"

He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "Yeah."

"Did you decide we should go to dinner first?"

"Yeah."

"And we're not on our way to the opera on the U-bahn. Thankfully."

He laughed at that. "I figured a car would classier than us riding the subway dressed like this."

She fingered the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. "You could have just worn a regular suit."

He looked into her eyes and said quietly, "I wanted to impress you."

"You did. You always do." She patted his chest. "Yes, it is very impressive that the concierge pulled this together so quickly, but he was only doing what you asked him to do."

"Yeah." Grinning, he added, "The guy got a _serious_ tip."

"I'm sure he did," she said with a laugh.

Their car pulled up in front of a fairly nondescript modern building and parked long enough for the driver to jump out and open the door for them to exit it. Sarah tucked her hand into the crook of her husband's arm as they climbed the stairs along with all the other well-dressed attendees and entered the building. What the exterior of the building lacked in style, the interior more than made up for. The auditorium was exactly what anyone would expect the inside of an opera house to look like. The red seats and golden walls and ceilings gave the room a rich opulence. They followed the usher leading them to their seats and once they sat down, they craned their necks, looking up at the ceiling. Gilded cherubs and ornate reliefs of torsos of men adorned the walls around the archways that surrounded the upper balcony.

"Wow," Chuck breathed with a quiet awe in his voice. "Swanky." He gazed at her. "We're a pretty fancy couple, aren't we?" he asked with a shy smile.

"We are. And look at you all dressed up at the opera," she teased. "Aren't you worried you're going to lose your nerd cred?"

"Who cares? I'm with you. That's all that matters."

She leaned in and gave him quick kiss on the lips.

His eyes widened. "Is that okay? Are we gonna get in trouble for that?" He ducked his head as if they were about to be reprimanded by an usher.

"Chuck, we're not a couple of teenagers making out in the back row of a dark movie theater."

Bouncing an eyebrow, he lowered his voice and said, "If this thing gets really boring, maybe we can do that instead."

Chuckling, she said, "Maybe, although I don't think you'll be bored."

"How do you know so much about opera, anyway?"

"One of my first missions, I was undercover with an opera company in St. Petersburg."

His eyebrows shot up. "You sang?"

"Oh god, no," she snorted. "I worked in the marketing department." Waving a hand, she said, "Russian mafia. Anyway, that's when I saw my first opera. I fell in love with the musicality, the emotion, the drama of it all."

"Is that where the love of classical music came from, too?"

She gave him a side-eyed glance. "Promise you won't laugh."

He sat up straighter, a smile forming. "I promise."

"I took an intro to music class my sophomore year at Harvard."

"Wait, I thought 'music was never at the top of your list?'"

"It wasn't. I took it to fulfill the arts requirement for my degree. It was just a survey course, 'From the Middle Ages to Mozart.' After I passed the class, I never thought about it or the music again until I heard some of the pieces we learned about being performed at the fancy mission related parties I was going to. At first, I was surprised that I actually recognized them. That's when I started to pay more attention and grew to love it."

"You know what else? It's classy and refined, just like you."

"Classy and refined? You're sweet," she said, kissing him again. "I can live with that."

When he glanced around the auditorium again, she started to flip through the program she had been handed when they entered. Seeing a warning on one of the pages about turning off cell phones, she opened her clutch and set her phone on vibrate. "Could you check with Casey or Morgan before the opera starts? You shouldn't use your phone once the lights go down."

He nodded and sent a quick text. A couple of minutes later, he received a text with a video attached. They put their heads together as they watched the twenty second video play. The camera panned around the group, sitting on the floor in a circle. They were playing some kind of card game. While most of the kids smiled and waved, a couple of them looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"What's with the cups?" Sarah asked, squinting at the screen. A cup sat on the floor next to each card player and two one-liter bottles of water stood in the middle of the circle.

"I don't know. Let me check." His thumbs flew over the screen while she glanced through the rest of the program. When he read the response to himself, it made him laugh out loud, much to the obvious disapproval of the well-heeled patrons of the arts who sat around them. "Sorry," he mumbled and slunk down in his seat.

Sarah looked up at him. "What are they up to?" Her tone of voice was mostly amused with just a hint of trepidation.

"According to Morgan, they're playing 'Bathroom Poker.'"

A small snort escaped, but it wasn't loud enough to draw the attention of those around them. "I'm afraid to ask."

"I guess the boys thought it up. Whoever loses the hand has to drink a cupful of water."

"What?"

A grin broke out on his face. "I guess that's why the boys looked a little, ah, wiggly."

"Why would they be wiggly?"

"Once they go to the bathroom, they don't get to play anymore. So they hold it for as long as they can."

She dropped her head, put her hand to her forehead and snickered quietly.

"You know how aggressive the boys are when the play games." He switched his phone to vibrate and slid it in his jacket pocket. His voice was as dry as the Sahara when he said, "I guess they don't know when to fold 'em. Now they have to hold 'em."

This time, she wasn't able to stop the laughter that came, nor did she want to. She happily ignored the dirty looks shot their way. She was having way too much fun to care.

As the orchestra began to play the overture, she held tightly to Chuck's hand. One minute they were discussing "Bathroom Poker" and the next they were about to watch a performance of one of Mozart's most beloved operas. A contented sigh escaped. She loved her life.

~ O ~

Hand-in-hand, they sauntered slowly through the hotel lobby toward the elevator. She had taken the pins out of her hair during their car ride back and it now fell loose around her shoulders.

"I still can't get over that one aria the Queen of the Night sang," Chuck said. "Just when I thought her voice couldn't go any higher, it did. It was amazing."

"Mm-hmm. It's considered by some to be one of the most difficult coloratura arias in all of opera." She had enjoyed watching his reaction to the scene and had spent more time watching him than the scene itself. He had sat stunned and slack-jawed at the soprano's vocal abilities.

"Coloratura?"

"The sopranos that can do those fast, crazy vocal gymnastics and sing so high they can make dogs howl." His laugh made her smile. She knew she wasn't a particularly funny person, so it thrilled her when she could make him laugh.

The elevator doors slid open and they stepped on. Chuck pushed the button for their floor and as the doors closed, he gently pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was a soft, slow, languid kiss that made her knees weak. They reluctantly parted when the elevator pinged and the doors opened. Arms around each other, they stepped off but didn't turn the corner to walk down the hall. They knew either Vegas or Barstow would be sitting there and that would spell the end of their magical evening.

"Thank you for the lovely date. I had a wonderful time," she said, reaching up and tugging at his bowtie.

"Do you think you might want go out with me again sometime?" He maneuvered them so that her back was against the wall and his body pressed gently against hers.

Staring up at the ceiling, she pretended to give it some thought. Lowering her gaze to his eyes, she said, "Hmm. It's past midnight, so I'm not sure Lizzie would approve." Her eyes flicked to his lips. "But on the other hand, you _are_ a pretty good kisser."

She watched the slow smile spread across his face. "Only pretty good?" He moved in and kissed her again. What started as a tender kiss quickly grew deep and passionate. His hands left trails of blistering heat as they roamed her bare back. When the fingers of one hand slipped under the material of her dress and rested on her ribcage, she released a guttural moan. He growled in response and kissed her harder. They reveled in each other's touch, in each other's kiss until the elevator pinged and the doors opened again. Even though their kiss ended, it was obvious what they had been doing from the heavy-lidded, dazed looks on their faces. The occupants of the elevator silently filed past them. Once they were gone, Sarah pressed her lips to Chuck's once more. "Okay, for the record," she whispered when the kiss broke, "you are an _excellent_ kisser. I'll talk to Lizzie."

"Thank you. And for the record, you are, too," he answered, wiggling his eyebrows and smiling. "And as much as I would enjoy standing here and kissing you all night, I think we need to go check on the kids and then get to bed."

He took her hand and slowly walked her down the hall toward their room. As expected, Agent Vegas was on guard, sitting on a chair in the hallway. As they had done in Paris when they came back from their late night mission, they checked in on the boys first. The pizza boxes were still there, but at least they were stacked neatly in a corner. Then they went back to their room. Megan was curled up in her roll away bed and Martie was asleep in theirs. Chuck picked up Martie and carried her into the girls' room with Sarah trailing behind them. He laid Martie on the sofa bed next to a sleeping Lisa. Looking over toward the bed where Lizzie and Bridget were, Sarah saw the teenager sleeping soundly, but Bridget seemed uncomfortable and restless. She gently sat down on the side of the bed and put a hand on Bridget's face. Adrenaline flooded through her. She looked up at her husband and whispered in alarm, "Chuck, she's burning up."

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: I've posted some pictures at my blog if you'd like to see the places they visited in this chapter as well as Sarah's dress and the anniversary gifts. Chuckvssom dot blogspot dot com.


	29. Night Fever

**A/N: **As always, I give you my thanks. I must also thank **AgentInWaiting** for his time, help and keen eye. Without further ado…

**Chapter 29 – Night Fever**

Chuck and Sarah were still in their formal attire from their night at the opera when he threw back the blankets from a feverish Bridget. He picked her up off the bed and followed Sarah into their room where she hurriedly removed the covers of their bed. After gently laying his niece down on the cool sheets, he went to his suitcase and started to rummage through it. Sarah turned on the light in the bathroom and closed the door partway to give some light to the room, but not make it too bright.

The commotion woke Megan. She sat up, squinted at the light and then kept her eyes closed. "You're back."

Sarah went over to her and knelt down. "Yes, we're back," she whispered. "Bridget's got a fever, so we need to take care of her in here. I'm going to carry you into the other room so you can sleep in there and we won't disturb you."

"Okay." Eyes still closed, Megan leaned forward, put her arms around Sarah's neck and rested her cheek on her aunt's shoulder. Sarah wrapped her arms around Megan's waist and stood. After bending her knees and performing a sort of "clean and jerk" move to get a supportive hand under the little girl's bottom, she snagged Spy Barbie from the mattress and carried both of them into the girls' room. Depositing her where Bridget had been sleeping, Sarah really hoped that whatever illness Bridget had, it wasn't contagious. Otherwise, it could be another "Battle of the Creeping Crud" as Fred had called it, when a virus had ravaged the family that past February.

She brushed back Megan's hair and kissed her forehead. Thankfully, it was cool. "Go back to sleep," she whispered. The little girl nodded once and then stilled.

Sarah hurried back and closed the door most of the way between the two rooms. While she had been moving Megan, Chuck had taken off his jacket and tie and tossed them over the room's one chair. He had found the "Bag o' Drugs" he carried in his suitcase and now sat on the bed searching through it. Sarah took a minute to kick off her shoes, slip out of her dress, and put on pair of yoga pants and a tank top. The earrings Chuck had given her stayed in her ears. She didn't want to take the time to put them away properly. They were safest where they were.

Crawling across the bed, she sat cross-legged next to Bridget and gazed into her flushed face. She could feel the heat radiating from her niece even before she rested a hand on the girl's arm.

Chuck found the electronic thermometer, turned it on and ran the sensor across Bridget's forehead. The small red light flashed and the rapid beeps told them her temperature had been successfully registered. He held it up, angled it toward the light to look at the readout and frowned.

"Chuck, what is it?" Her voice was thick with worry.

"What's wrong with this thing?" His scowl deepened. "It says it's 39.4."

"I think that's Celsius."

"Duh. You're right." He slid off the back cover, flipped a switch and put it back together. As he ran the thermometer across her forehead again, Bridget opened her eyes.

"Hey, kiddo. Not feeling too good?" Sarah asked in a soft voice. She smoothed a hand over her soft brown hair.

Bridget's eyes were glassy with fever when she looked back at Sarah. Her whole body began to shake. "I'm cold. Can I have a blanket?" she asked, her voice weak.

"I'm sorry, pumpkin," Chuck said. He looked to Sarah and said, "It's 103." He moved his hand up and down Bridget's leg, judging for himself how the fever was affecting her. "We need to get your fever down and covering you up will only make it worse."

Sarah's insides twisted when Bridget's shivering grew more violent and a tear slipped from the corner of the sick girl's eye. She knew Chuck was right. They couldn't cover her, but it broke her heart to see her niece so ill and uncomfortable.

Now that she was a veteran of Battle of the Creeping Crud, she knew what needed to be done. Sarah scrambled off the bed, headed straight for the bathroom and soaked a couple of washcloths with cold water. After wringing them out, she hurried back to the bed and gently laid one on Bridget's forehead. She patted the other up and down Bridget's arms.

As Chuck dug around the Bag o' Drugs, he mumbled distractedly to himself. "Cough drops, Band-Aids, Neosporin, Motrin, hydrocortisone, tweezers. Ah, here we go." He took out the bottle of Advil for kids and consulted the directions on the back. Then he popped off the lid and dumped three of the tablets in his palm.

"Can you sit up?" he asked.

She nodded. Sarah took the now warm washcloth off Bridget's forehead, helped her sit up and slid an arm around her back for support. She could feel the heat through her shirt when Bridget's head listed to the side and rested against her chest.

Bridget put one of the tablets in her mouth and slowly chewed it, grimacing slightly. "Here, hold these," Chuck said, handing the tablets to Sarah. He went to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. After Bridget swallowed the second tablet, he held the glass to her lips and she took a couple of sips. Another wave of chills caused her jerk and shake. Sarah kissed the fevered forehead when a small whimper escaped.

He took the last tablet from Sarah's hand and held it out to their sick girl. "Come on, kiddo. Just one more. It'll make you feel better. Take it and then you can lie down." His tone was gentle, but insistent.

She unenthusiastically took the purple tablet and put it in her mouth. Her hand dropped limply to her lap as she slowly chewed and swallowed.

"Drink a little more water." He held the glass up to her lips. She downed several more sips.

"Good job, sweetie," Chuck said, setting the glass on the nightstand. Sarah shifted so Bridget could lay flat again. Her eyes drifted closed, but the chills continued.

She anxiously gazed at the furrowed brow and tension in Bridget's face. "Does anything hurt?" She barely breathed as she waited for a response.

There was an almost imperceptible nod. "My ear."

Chuck's shoulders slumped and he heaved a sigh.

"Is that bad?" she whispered. His response made her more nervous than she had been before.

Hearing the worry in her voice, he rested a comforting hand on her leg. "No, she'll be okay. It's probably just an ear infection. I'm actually relieved. She's had trouble with them since she was little, even before Ellie died. This is the first one she's had in a couple of years. I thought maybe she'd grown out of them."

Seeing his calm demeanor and confidence that Bridget was going to be fine, she relaxed too. Running a hand through her hair, she blew out a breath and asked, "What do we do about it?"

"She needs to get on some antibiotics. We'll need to get her to a doctor in the morning." His smile was tired. "If it is an ear infection, at least she's not contagious. The European front of Battle of the Creeping Crud wouldn't be very much fun."

"Agreed," she said. She snagged the two washcloths and made a trip to the bathroom to refresh them under a stream of cool water. While Chuck changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, Sarah returned to their sick niece and continued her ministrations.

It was a fitful hour for Bridget as they waited for the ibuprofen to work. Eventually, the shivering abated and she relaxed somewhat. The tension in her face eased and she fell into a shallow and unsettled sleep.

Chuck took her temperature again. "It's still 100. It hasn't broken, but it's low enough that she can sleep. We should try to get some, too."

Nodding, she was suddenly gripped by exhaustion. It took her last ounces of energy to use the bathroom and wash her face. By the time she left the bathroom, Chuck was stretched out on top of Megan's rollaway bed. His frame was too long for it and his feet hung off the end. She could see he was already asleep. Finding an extra blanket in the closet, she unfolded it and draped it over him. She gazed into his sleeping face before she bent and kissed his cheek. Finally, she turned off the bathroom light and tumbled onto the bed next to Bridget, not even bothering to put on her pajamas. She put a hand to the girl's face once more and was hugely relieved when she didn't feel the searing heat she had earlier. Her head had barely hit the pillow before she was out.

~ O ~

Sarah startled awake when the bed shook. She sat up to find Megan sitting on the end of the bed staring back at her. "Aunt Sarah, you're still wearing your new fancy earrings."

Trying to clear her muddled brain, she sucked in a lungful of air and blinked a couple of times. She looked from Megan to Bridget, stirring next to her. Her face was still flushed and the grimace had returned. One touch to her forehead told Sarah her temperature was up.

"Chuck," she rasped, twisting around to find him in the exact same position he had been in when he fell asleep the night before. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Chuck."

He jerked awake and nearly fell off the narrow bed. "Huh? Whuh?" Wild-eyed, he levered himself up on an elbow and glanced around.

"Uncle Chuck. What are you doing in my bed?" Megan giggled. "You're too big for it."

He swung his long legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Resting his elbows on his knees, he scrubbed his face with both hands and released a huge yawn. Looking over to his wife, he opened his eyes wide and then squeezed them shut, working to get some moisture to them. "How's she doing?"

"I haven't taken her temperature yet, but I pretty sure it's high."

When he glanced at his wrist, his head snapped back in surprise. Apparently, he'd forgotten he was still wearing his new watch. "I'm not surprised. The drugs have worn off."

Sarah took the thermometer from the nightstand and ran it over Bridget's forehead. She was right. The fever was back to where it had been the night before. Disappointment rippled through her. She had no reason to believe that it would have broken overnight, but there was still a small part of her that hoped that it had done so.

Megan looked over at her sister, red-faced and listless, lying on the bed. "What's wrong with her?"

"She has a fever and maybe an ear infection."

Her eyes widened and she looked slightly panicked as she clutched Spy Barbie to her chest.

"She's going to be okay," Sarah said quickly.

"Are we gonna have to go home? I don't want to go home. I like Europe."

With a small smile, Sarah answered, "We _will_ have to go home, but I don't think we'll have to go home early because of this. We'll go home when we're done with all the tournaments."

Chuck came out of the bathroom and heard the last part of Sarah's comment. "We're gonna have to figure out what we're going to do about today's competition, but we'll worry about that later. First, we need to get this sickie to a doctor." He rubbed a finger over Bridget's cheek, eliciting a faint smile from her. His voice was lighthearted, but Sarah saw the concern that lined his face. To Sarah he asked, "Should we call the concierge?"

"I doubt they're available this early in the morning. Let me see what I can find. It's Saturday, so our choices might be pretty small." She grabbed her laptop, flipped it open and connected to the hotel's wifi. While she searched for nearby medical help, Chuck gave Bridget another dose of ibuprofen. "Do we want an emergency room or a standby practice?" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "I don't think this is an emergency. We can go to the other."

"Okay, then there's a place that specializes in pediatrics about fifteen minutes from here. They open on Saturdays at nine a.m."

"Perfect. That'll give us plenty of time to get ready and the ibuprofen to kick in."

She wrote the address down on a piece of paper and stuck it in her pocket. She also jotted down the phone number of a taxi service, which she would soon be calling.

After quick showers, Chuck went down the hall to advise first Casey and then Morgan what was going on while Sarah helped Bridget get ready to go. Both men said they would make sure the kids got breakfast. Lizzie and Lisa promised to take care of Martie and Megan. The boys vowed to be on their best behavior and look after their younger sisters, too, while Chuck, Sarah and Bridget were out.

Once the ibuprofen brought Bridget's temperature down again, she was able to get dressed and walk to the taxi by herself when it was time to go, which was a great relief to Sarah. It was obvious that she still wasn't feeling well, though, as she sat between them in the back seat of the car, first listlessly leaning her head on Chuck's shoulder then on Sarah's. Fortunately, there was little traffic on a Saturday morning, so they made it to the clinic in good time. It had just opened, so they were the first to be helped. Chuck sat with Bridget in the waiting room while Sarah spoke to the receptionist in German. Taking a clipboard with several forms attached, she sat down next to her husband to fill them out. The first page of personal information was easy to complete. When faced questions about Bridget's medical history, she had to consult Chuck about whether or not Bridget had ever had the chicken pox, measles, pertussis or the myriad of other illnesses on the list.

The thing that bothered her the most was when she realized she wasn't able to sign the form as Bridget's legal guardian. Even though their lawyer was working on her adoption of the kids as the family traveled through Europe, it reminded her of just how important it was for that to be completed as soon as they returned home.

Once they were taken to an examination room, Sarah explained to the nurse in German the events of the night before as the young woman took Bridget's temperature, pulse and blood pressure. The nurse nodded, asked about allergies to medications and wrote down a few notes. As she left the room, she advised her that the doctor would be with them shortly.

Sarah sat down on one of the chairs to wait. Chuck shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered around the room, examining the different posters and papers attached to the walls. The papers were mostly crayon drawings of houses with rainbows over them, or stick figure family portraits. Pointing at the posters of photographs of the insides of ears suffering from different maladies, he asked, "Why do they have this here? I hope doctors don't use this poster as a cheat sheet." He looked to Bridget and said with a smile, "I would think they should be able to recognize an ear infection when they see one." He pointed at the figure that looked like a red lima bean. "That's just gross."

Sarah heaved a relieved sigh when Bridget chuckled and said, "That's probably what my ear looks like."

"Hey, maybe the doctor will take a picture of it and put it up on the wall," he said.

"I don't think that's the kind of attention you want to get at a doctor's office," Sarah replied.

"Good point."

The door opened and a petite woman with shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair stepped in, scanning Bridget's paperwork. "Good morning," she said with a hint of a German accent. "I'm Dr. Berger. I'm sorry your holiday has been interrupted by the need to visit us today." Looking up, she smiled and said, "Let's see if we can get you feeling better soon."

The doctor asked Bridget questions during the examination and apologized for the cold stethoscope as she checked the girl's heart and lungs. "Lungs are clear." She then took an otoscope from her pocket, turned on the light and looked in Bridget's right ear. "Well, young lady," the doctor said as she peered through the device, "I'm impressed at how well you are doing considering the number of monkeys you have in this ear."

Bridget giggled while Chuck and Sarah smiled at each other. Dr. Berger moved to the other side of the examination table and looked in the left ear. "Yes, this ear also has a few monkeys, but not as many."

"Hey, Bridget," Chuck said, his voice the lightest it had been all morning, "maybe you can get the inside of your ears on this poster after all. I don't see any monkeys on it and I've gotta think that'd be pretty cool to see."

"It would. I'll see what I can do," the doctor said. She sat down at the small desk and took out a pad, wrote out a prescription, and handed the paper to Chuck. "That is for a ten day course of amoxicillin. If you start giving it to her right away, she should be feeling better in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. How long will you be here in Berlin?"

"We're leaving for Prague tomorrow," Chuck replied.

"Are you going by train or airplane?"

"Train."

"Good. The change in pressure during an airplane flight can be both miserable and dangerous for a child with an ear infection."

Sarah quickly reviewed their itinerary in her head. "We're not scheduled to fly for another week."

The doctor tore a second piece of paper from the prescription pad and turned it over. As she moved her pen across it, she said, "Your daughter should be fine by then. If she is still having pain in a few days, I suggest that you check in with a doctor." She spun around on her stool, opened a drawer and pulled out a roll of medical tape. After tearing off a short strip, she tossed the roll back into the drawer, stood and bumped the drawer closed with her hip. As she taped the piece of paper to the poster, the doctor intoned, "The monkeys in your ear, Fräulein Bridget." Shaking their hands, she said, "It was a delight to meet you." She opened the door and stepped into the hall. "_Auf Wiedersehen_."

All three immediately went to look at the paper stuck to the poster. Dr. Berger had drawn three monkeys hanging from what looked like a lima bean. At the bottom were the words, "_Die Affen in Bridgets Ohr_."

"I take it that says 'The monkeys in Bridget's ear,'" the girl said.

"Mm-hmm."

Chuck took his phone from his pocket and took a picture. "Now _that_ is cool."

~ O ~

Bridget was drooping again on their way back to the hotel, so they had the taxi driver drop her and Chuck off there before he drove Sarah to the closest pharmacy. It turned out to only be a couple of blocks from where they were staying, so Sarah paid the driver and then walked back after the prescription was filled.

The minute she walked into the room, she gave Bridget one of the pills. "Aunt Sarah, I can't take this."

She was afraid that might have been the case. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but you're going to have to learn. The doctor wrote the prescription for either liquid or pills, but the liquid has to stay refrigerated and we can't do that." She patted Bridget's leg and said with confidence, "You can do it. Put the pill way at the back of your tongue and then take a big drink of water."

Bridget gave her a dubious look, but did as she was told. When she lowered the glass after draining it of its contents, she wore a pleased smile. "I did it. I didn't choke or anything."

Sarah patted her leg again. The pride was evident when she said, "I knew you could."

Chuck walked in from the girls' room and asked, "Could do what?"

"I just took a pill. Aunt Sarah showed me."

He winked and gave his wife a proud smile. To their niece he said, "Good for you. A sure sign that you're growing up." He held up a hand to their niece and she gave it a tired slap. "You need to eat," he said, handing her a roll and some _butterkäse_. She dutifully took it and started to munch on the roll. "Your brothers can't believe how amazing breakfasts are in Europe. They had cold cuts and some of that butter cheese this morning," he said, pointing to the piece of soft cheese in her hand. "You'd better eat before they come and take it."

Knowing how much her brothers could wolf down, the threat worked. Bridget ate the rest of her food and then lay back on the pillows.

Chuck took Sarah's hand and pulled her into a corner of the room. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? I'm happy to stay with her and you can go to the tournament."

"Thank you, but we'll be fine. We talked about this in the taxi. You're a better player than I am and you and Bridget can't stay here by yourself. Vegas or Barstow would have to be here and that's just one less person to protect the rest of the group. I'll keep an eye on Bridget's temperature and Martie and Megan won't be any trouble. They didn't seem too bothered that they won't be at the tournament today." She reached up and fiddled with the collar of his green polo shirt. "Besides, I've got some work to do. I need to check in with Harry Chalmers and owe Graham a phone call." Tilting her head, she said, "Morgan will take Bridget's place on the team. Who will take mine, Barstow or Vegas?"

He pressed her hand to his chest. In a dramatic voice, he said, "No one can take your place, my darling."

A quiet snort came from where Bridget lay on the bed, causing both of them to laugh.

Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it and said, "Seriously, no one could ever replace you. But as for the team, Scott volunteered. He said he's played some video games before, although not _Call of Duty_."

"That's interesting that he's played video games before." She wondered what Carina would think of that bit of information and planned on telling her in person so she could see the reaction. "Vegas will be with you, too, so you'll have plenty of protection." A thought suddenly hit her. "What about Buy More shirts for Morgan and Barstow?"

"Morgan called the Berlin Buy More and spoke with the store manager to see if they had any extra shirts. They have one ready for Barstow, but they didn't have one in Morgan's size."

"What are you going to do?"

He grinned and lowered his voice. "I told him we have an extra one. He thinks it's Fred's." He bounced his eyebrows in amusement. "It's Lizzie's."

Her snort was loud and involuntary. "It fits him?"

"It was always a little too big for her, but yeah, it fits him." His smile wavered. "The store manager speaks English, but Casey will have to take point with any German speakers. Hopefully he can keep from almost starting a riot like he did in Amsterdam."

"I'm sure he'll be on his best behavior."

He turned his head a little and squinted at her. "And how do you propose we make sure that he is?"

A flash of wicked inspiration glinted in her eyes. "Have Lizzie and Lisa threaten to call him 'Onkel Zucker Bär' in front of the whole crowd if he acts up." Seeing his confused expression she translated, "Uncle Sugar Bear."

With an appreciative smile, he said, "That should do it. You're brilliant and I love you." He gave her a quick kiss. "We need to go in a little while. We're going to get lunch over at the KaDeWe and then head for the Buy More. We're close by, just over on Tauentzienstraße, so if you need me, I can be back in a few minutes."

"I know. Don't worry. We'll be fine." She kissed him again. Reluctantly, they ended their tête-à-tête to make sure everyone was ready to go.

After another half-hour of looking for lost shoes, tying ribbons in hair and more assurances that Sarah and the three youngest would be okay by themselves, a reorganized Bartowski Family Gamers was ready to depart. Hugs, kisses and calls of good luck were exchanged before the team tromped down the hallway. Once they were gone, Sarah closed the door and looked at her three youngest. "Okay girls, we're on our own."

~ O ~

Sarah sat on the bed, her back against a pillow, legs stretched out and stocking-clad feet crossed at the ankles. Her laptop lay open on her legs as she reviewed her notes from the last time she'd spoken with Director Graham. It had been longer than she had realized. While she had sent him a secure e-mail advising him of the information she'd received from Carina regarding Benoit's yacht, it had been several days since she'd actually talked to him. Between the traveling, sightseeing, and various unforeseen events like going to the opera, losing and finding Spy Barbie and an ill Bridget, it was becoming more and more difficult to find the time to do her job. Fighting off a wave of self-recrimination, she blew out a determined breath. With the "free" time she had today, she would make up for it. Things were quiet just then and she could take full advantage. Bridget was curled up on the bed next to her napping, Martie sat on Megan's rollaway bed quietly coloring and Megan sat on the floor playing with Spy Barbie and friends.

She tuned in to listen to Megan for a minute, trying to figure out how the ankle boots she had slipped off earlier were involved in the story. Peering over to where Megan played, she saw that Dani sat inside an open nightstand drawer while Barbie sat inside one of her boots and Joe sat in the other.

"Joe and Barbie drove the landspeeders to where Princess Dani was being held prisoner in a tower," Megan said, just above a whisper trying not to bother her sleeping sister. Sarah grinned at the mashed up story. And while she thought that a pair of chucks looked more like landspeeders than her boots did, she kept her musings to herself. Had she been playing with Megan, she probably would have suggested it. She chuckled quietly and shook her head a little when she realized she had an opinion on what kind of footwear worked best as a Star Wars vehicle.

Returning to her notes, she knew she needed to contact Harry Chalmers, her friend from MI-6, before she talked to Graham. It had been over a week since their meeting in the pub in London where he'd promised to ask around about both Benoit and Frost and Orion. She decided to text him first to make sure she wasn't interrupting him in the middle of a knife fight in Jakarta.

Within a minute of sending the text, her phone rang. She slid off the bed and whispered, "I'll be right next door. I don't want to be too loud and wake Bridget." Martie and Megan looked at her and nodded. She hurried into the girls' room, but positioned herself so she could keep an eye on them through the open doorway.

When she answered her phone, she heard a cheerful, "Hello, Agent Walker. I'm so pleased to hear from you."

"Hello, Harry. How are you? Are you still chasing down our friend Kingston?"

"I am," he said with his usual enthusiasm. "And since you are no longer 'on the market,' as they say, I'm also chasing some of the young ladies at my current locale."

She chuckled, knowing that he would be pursuing the young ladies at his current locale regardless of her status. There was the pulsing beat of music blasting in the background, accompanied by shouting, laughing and then a splash. "Are you near water?"

"Poolside, actually. Sorry I can't tell you where I am. Undisclosed location and all that."

She smiled into the phone. "That's fine. That way I don't have to feel bad when I say I can't tell you where I am." She watched Megan get up from the floor and go into the bathroom. The little girl immediately reappeared with about three feet of toilet paper trailing behind her.

"Fair enough." To her, it sounded like he had moved away from the pool as the background noise of shouts and splashing lessened. "I assume you're following up after our meeting last week."

"I am. I hope you don't mind, but I was hoping you might have heard something about Benoit. Or perhaps Frost and Orion." She watched as Megan looped one end of the toilet paper through the handle on the front of the nightstand drawer where Princess Dani was captured.

"I'm glad you called. I've made several inquiries with some acquaintances," he said carefully, "but haven't heard back from them. Why don't I contact them and see if they've turned up anything?"

"That would be great, Harry. Thank you."

There was a chuckle at his end of the line. "I can hear the relief in your voice. I can't promise when I'll hear back from them, but I'll let you know as soon as I do. For you, Sarah Walker, I'll even work poolside."

"I'm honored," she answered dryly.

"I'll ring you when I've heard something. Cheers."

"Bye, Harry."

The call ended and Sarah returned to other the room. Despite her best efforts to not wake her, Bridget's eyes were open and once again had that glassy look to them. "That wasn't Uncle Chuck, was it?" Megan asked as she moved up Spy Barbie up the "rope" toward Dani.

"No, that was a friend from work who's helping me. Why do you ask?"

Without looking up from Barbie's climbing mission, she replied, "Because your voice is different when you talk to Uncle Chuck on the phone than somebody else." Martie nodded, never looking up from her rubbing a crayon on a page in her coloring book.

"Different? How?"

"Warm," Bridget said, glancing up at her.

Sarah went to her niece, sat down next to her and put the back of her fingers against a flushed cheek. "You are warm again." Glancing at her watch, she said, "Time for some more Advil." She picked up the bottle from the nightstand, careful not to bump Dani or dislodge the toilet paper.

Bridget gave her a faint smile. "No, your voice is warm when you talk to Uncle Chuck."

"Oh," she laughed, feeling a bit sheepish.

"But you're right. I am feeling warm again. And my ear still hurts."

After another round of tablets for Bridget and then reviewing the lunch menu with the girls, Sarah called room service. She had noticed that Bridget's appetite was best when the ibuprofen brought her fever down, so she thought she should get some food in her when that happened.

Their lunches had just arrived and the four were settling down to eat when Sarah's phone blinged, alerting her that she'd received a text.

The girls started in on their lunches while Sarah read the message. "Uncle Chuck wants to know how we are. How are we?"

"Hungry," Martie said and then popped a piece of bread in her mouth.

"He'll want proof," Sarah said with a wink. She took a picture of the three eating girls and sent it to her husband. His response was a colon-right parenthesis smile and a picture of the Bartowski Family Gamers inside the Berlin Buy More. She turned her phone around to show the photo to the girls.

"It kinda looks like the inside of all the other Buy Mores we've been in," Martie observed.

"You're right. It does." She sent a reply and then took a bite of her salad. Her phone announced an immediate response. Glancing down at the screen, she reported to the other three, "They're about to play their first game."

"Tell him we hope they win," Bridget said, getting nods of agreement from her sisters.

Sarah typed and sent the text. "Done."

They turned on the television while they ate. Sadly, German TV on Saturday wasn't any better than American TV on a Saturday. When she surfed past _Germany's Next Top Model, _Bridget asked to watch it. She immediately perked up while watching and eating, and commented on the fashions while Martie and Megan chose their favorites to win. The show wasn't the most edifying thing in the world, but since the girls didn't really need to understand German to follow what was going on—and when a conversation between two of the contestants got a little heated it was just as well that they didn't understand what was being said—it did help pass the time. Once their lunches were consumed and the program was over—they had to watch to the end to ensure neither Martie's nor Megan's picks had been eliminated—the TV was turned off. Their grumbling was short lived when Sarah brought out _Artemis Fowl_ and read a few pages to her eager listeners before her phone blinged again.

"The Bartwoski Family Gamers won their first round match," she declared after reading the text.

"Yay!" the younger girls shouted with enthusiasm. Bridget managed a wide smile. Sarah texted back their congratulations and was about to return to reading aloud when her phone rang. One glance at the screen told her it was Harry calling her back. "I have to take this."

"Hello, Harry." She set the book on the nightstand, picked up the remote and turned the TV on. Another episode of _Germany's Top Model_ was playing, so Martie and Megan scrambled across the bed to sit next to Bridget, all three leaning against pillows. Satisfied that the girls were now occupied, she wandered back into the other room.

"Greetings again, Sarah. Good news. One of my contacts came through. He knows of someone who is willing to speak with you about Frost and Orion."

A chill shot up her spine. "Really? That's fantastic. This is the first break we've had in a long time."

"I'm glad to hear that." He hesitated and then said, "Don't get your hopes up too high. I don't know anything about the person my contact mentioned, so what they have to say might not be helpful at all."

"I have to follow up every lead I get since there have been so few to come along."

"I understand. I have a phone number. When you call, tell the person you speak with you got it from Zephyr."

She wrote the number Harry recited down on one of the free hotel notepads sitting on one of the nightstands and then read the number back to him to make sure it was correct. "Thank you, Harry. You really came through for me."

Chuckling, he said, "Don't thank me yet. Get some good, actionable intel from this person and _then_ you can thank me." She could almost hear him smiling over the phone. "You can buy me something pretty," he said, his voice as dry as a bone.

Laughing, she said, "Deal. I'll let you know how it all works out."

"Roger that, Agent Walker. I'm still waiting to hear back from a couple of other contacts. If there's anything to report, I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Harry. Talk to you soon."

"Ciao."

The call over, she picked up the notepad. Holding it by the corner, she bounced it as she peered around the doorjamb to make sure the girls were okay. Bridget had slid down and was now lying flatter on the bed. Her sisters still sat next to her, eyes glued to the photo shoot taking place on the TV. She looked back at the phone number on the pad. Peeking down at her watch, she knew Chuck and the rest wouldn't be back for at least a couple more hours and she wanted something concrete for when she spoke to Graham. It was as good of a time as any to make the call.

Stepping back into the girls' room, a case of nerves gripped her. The number she was about to call might lead them to finding Chuck's parents. There was a part of her that wondered if she should wait until Chuck was there to hear the conversation. On the other hand, if it turned out to be nothing, his hopes would have been raised and then dashed for no good reason. Taking in a cleansing breath through her nose, she blew it out slowly through her parted lips. Heart pounding, she typed the number in and held the phone to her ear.

It rang once before she heard a man's voice say, "Yes?"

"I was given this phone number by Zephyr. I understand you have information about two people I'm searching for. Their codenames are Frost and Orion." Like a caged tiger, she paced around the room, carefully stepping over suitcases and piles of shoes.

"I was told you would be calling. This information is important to you?" The man spoke perfect English but had the slightest hint of Russian accent.

"It is. Very important."

"Are you willing to pay for this information that is so important?" The voice didn't sound malevolent, just businesslike. He had a commodity she needed. Simple supply and demand.

"Yes, as long as your intelligence checks out. What are your terms?" Her heart raced faster, waiting for him to give her an amount. She hoped it would be a reasonable sum that Graham would be willing to approve.

"This is a cash only deal. Five thousand euros. I require it in ten five hundred euro notes."

She stopped pacing abruptly and the tension in her shoulders melted away. Even if Graham didn't approve the cash disbursement from the Agency, she'd gladly pay the amount from of her own funds. "That can be arranged." She could carry those ten five hundred euro notes in her pocket. Cash only criminals and other shady dealers loved the convenience of the large denomination.

At this point, she needed to go on the offensive. She didn't want to leave the family and travel to who knew where to meet with this mystery man. If he wanted to sell his information badly enough, he would agree to her terms as well. Her mind quickly went through the schedule of her family's trip as well as the logistics of obtaining the cash. "It will take me a couple of days to get the money since tomorrow is Sunday. I can meet you in Prague on Monday afternoon." She found herself holding her breath as she waited for his answer.

The line was silent other than the faint sound of the man's breath. Sarah waited, knowing he was thinking over his options, just as she had a moment before. "Very well. I will be in Prague on Monday to meet with you. There is an Irish pub in the Old Town Square called Caffrey's. Be there at four o'clock. Sit at one of the outdoor tables and order a bottle of Kopparberg Blueberry. I will find you."

Open, public and Casey would be there as backup. For a meet, it couldn't get much better than that. "Agreed."

"Good. Until Monday," he replied and ended the call.

She touched her thumb to the screen to disconnect the call. Staring at the phone in her hand, she blew out a breath in relief, glad to be finally moving forward in her search for Chuck's parents.

Checking on the girls, she saw that Bridget was once again napping and Martie and Megan were quietly playing on the bed with Megan's dolls. Since the girls weren't paying attention to the TV, Sarah picked up the remote and turned it off. She watched the girls play while she put a hand to Bridget's forehead. From what she could tell, GI Joe was now a photographer taking pictures of Barbie as she struck different modeling poses. She chuckled when she heard Megan whisper that it was almost time for Spy Barbie—who was actually undercover as a model—to steal the dress that had a secret computer chip sewn into the hem. Bridget's forehead was still warmer than it should have been, but Sarah was glad that she was getting some much-needed rest.

With Bridget asleep and the other two girls occupied, Sarah decided to call Director Graham. It was Saturday morning in Washington. She smiled when she remembered how she and Chuck had laughed in the past about how the director never left his office. Even so, she called his cell on the off chance he was out making a foray into the real world.

"Agent Walker," the Director said when he answered the phone. "How are things where you are? Berlin, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. I'm in Berlin. I hope I haven't called at a bad time."

"No, not at all. I'm just catching up on some paperwork here at the office. I'm glad you called. I assume you have some news to share?"

She smiled when he mentioned he was at the office and made a mental note to share that tidbit of information with Chuck later.

"I do. Agent Chalmers from MI-6 put me in contact with someone who is willing to sell me intel on Frost and Orion."

"How much does this contact want for the information?"

"Five thousand euros." When he didn't respond, her stomach dropped. "I'm meeting him in Prague on Monday. I told him if the intel is not helpful, the funds will be withheld."

"That's quite a sum of money, Agent Walker. If the intel was on Benoit's location, I'd be more willing to approve it."

"Yes, sir. I understand. But if we can find them, hopefully they'll be able to help us track down Benoit."

"Our analysts are still trying to find the yacht that DEA Agent Miller told you about, but it's like looking for a needle in a haystack," he mused. From past experience, she knew he was thinking it over. It was best if she remained silent as he made his decision.

"Very well. I'll approve your request." She sunk down on the bed in relief. "E-mail me the paperwork and I'll expedite it. We'll let you know which bank in Prague will have the funds ready for you on Monday."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to get back to you on Monday after the meeting with full briefing."

"I look forward to it. I assume you will take the appropriate security precautions?"

"Yes. Major Casey will be my backup."

"Fine. I'll be waiting to receive your paperwork." With that, the call ended.

She let out a gusty sigh of relief, stood and went back into the room with the girls. Bridget was still asleep and the other two were playing, so she took her laptop from the bed, went to the desk and sat down. Opening the computer, she heard Megan say, "I didn't know spies had to make so many phone calls."

Chuckling, she twisted in her chair to look at her niece. "And filling out paperwork and writing reports. All those glamorous things we spies do."

Megan nodded somberly. "Oh, Spy Barbie knows about reports. She has to write them _all_ the time. Joe gets into a _lot_ of trouble."

Sarah returned the nod and then turned to face the computer again. She had just sent the forms to an awaiting Graham when her phone rang. A tiny smile curled on her lips when she saw her favorite picture of Chuck and her on the screen.

"Hey," she said quietly. Her smile widened when she heard herself just then. The girls were right. Her voice did have a warmer tone when she spoke to her husband. That was okay with her. She was about to go back into the other room to talk, but when she saw Bridget stir and open her eyes, she stayed seated at the desk. "How's it going?"

"We're done," Chuck answered.

"What? I'm surprised. I thought the tournament would go for at least another hour."

"Oh, it's still going. We're out. We lost in the second round." There was a definite tinge of frustration in his voice.

"I'm sorry. What happened? Was Barstow the weak link?"

"No, he was fine. The kids were off today. Let's just say there was no team spirit. They're short-tempered and constantly sniping at each other. I think almost two weeks of constant togetherness is starting to get to them." He sighed into the phone. "There's no place to go where they can get away from each other."

It was true. At home in Beaver Creek, there were plenty of places inside and out where any of the kids could go off to be alone if they chose. That was a luxury that wasn't available to them in their current circumstances. "Maybe we can figure something out in Prague, a way to give them some space from each other."

Sighing, he said, "We'll see. Anyway, we have to stay here until the end, so it'll be a while yet before we get back. How's Bridget?"

She could tell from where she sat that Bridget was still feverish. "The same."

"Okay." He sighed again. "I gotta go. Fred was poking Lisa, literally, and now she's got him in a headlock. I love you."

She smiled into the phone. "I love you, too. Bye." The call now ended, she turned and looked at the three girls she'd spent the day with. She was glad they hadn't been any literal or figurative poking. Or headlocks. Picking up the book from the nightstand, she said to her girls, "I think it's time for some more _Artemis Fowl_."

~ O ~

The squabbling, teasing and bickering—which was still in full swing when the Bartowski Family Gamers returned to the hotel after the tournament ended—continued throughout the rest of the evening. Casey and the two agents made themselves scarce after Sarah briefed them and Chuck on the upcoming meet with the mysterious Mr. X, as he was now called, obviously wanting to get away from the constant sibling feuding. When Sarah heard Casey say he was going to the hotel bar, all she hoped for was that he wouldn't run into any old girlfriends.

When morning came, Chuck and Sarah were happy and relieved to find that after a couple more doses of antibiotic, Bridget's fever had broken overnight. Strands of hair were stuck to her neck after the fever sweat she'd endured during the night, but at least now she was cool to the touch and her eyes were clear.

Bridget's fever breaking was the only good news of the morning since the behavior of the four oldest kids toward each other hadn't improved and was putting everyone on edge. Chuck, Sarah and Casey refereed several skirmishes as they packed and prepared to leave for the train station.

When Sarah saw Chuck's jaw clench after Lizzie and Curtis started at each other again, she knew he was at a breaking point. When he called all seven kids into the girls' room for a family conference, his voice was stern and his mouth was set in a grim line. Crossing his arms across his chest, he stood in front of them and said, "We know you've been living in close quarters for almost two weeks now, and up until yesterday, you've done a great job of getting along."

Standing next to her husband, she scrutinized their faces. The youngest three looked back up at them, slightly bemused by what was going on. The older four sat hunched and sullen, their eyes either pinned to the floor or flicking at each other with reproach.

Chuck's usual affable demeanor was gone. "This fighting has to stop. We have a four and a half hour train trip ahead of us today. I suggest you figure out how to get along with each other again." His voice was firm when he asked, "Do you understand?"

Their grumbled affirmations came reluctantly.

Once the meeting was over, suitcases were closed and it was obvious the kids were trying their best to be nice to each other when they piled into the vans that transported them to the train station. They were equally well behaved during lunch at the station, so when it was time to board, they were allowed to sit with whomever they wanted. Unfortunately, they had barely reached the outskirts of the city when Chuck had to jump out of his seat to separate a dust up between Curtis and Fred.

The seat next to Sarah wasn't open very long. Curtis, red-faced and glowering, dropped into it and muttered, "Uncle Chuck wants me to tell you that he's gonna sit with Fred."

A curious eyebrow rose. "Okay." The silence stretched until she finally asked, "You want to tell me about it?"

"Fred was bugging me. He kept hogging the middle armrest and jabbing me with his elbow. When I told him to stop touching me, he stuck his hand in my face," he held the palm of his hand a few millimeters from his nose in demonstration, "and said, 'I'm not touching you. I'm not touching you.' Gah!" He slunk down and crossed his arms angrily. "He can be such a jerk."

She gently slapped his thigh and said, "I'm glad to have you come sit with me. You can hang out with us, right girls?" Bridget and Megan, sitting across from them, nodded and smiled at him.

His dour mood immediately began to lift. He sat up straighter and smiled. "Thanks." Reaching around, he took his phone from his back pocket and started to play a game, tapping his thumb on the screen. When Sarah heard a deep groaning noise and then an elongated, "brains" coming from his phone she leaned over to get a closer look. After watching the game for a minute, she said, "Tell me more about these plants that shoot peas at zombies."

~ O ~

The southbound train had just passed through Dresden when Chuck stood in the aisle and tapped Curtis on the shoulder. "Quit hogging Aunt Sarah," he said dryly. "I want a turn."

Sarah looked up from _Artemis Fowl_—she was safe to read ahead since both girls across from her were asleep—and gave her husband a radiant smile.

Curtis' face turned sour. "I don't want to sit by Fred."

"You're not. Morgan moved to sit by him. You're going to sit next to Lisa."

Warily, he looked up at his uncle. "What's she doing?"

"Plotting ways to make your life miserable," he replied, rolling his eyes.

Curtis grinned at him. "I _knew_ it."

Tapping his nephew on the arm, he tipped his head back toward the empty seat next to Lisa and said, "Go. And be nice to your sister," he warned as they swapped places. "Otherwise, she'll put you in a headlock."

"Yeah, no kidding," Curtis replied. "You'll save me if she does?"

"Eh, I'll think about it," Chuck teased with a smile. Curtis snorted and left.

Chuck leaned over and kissed Sarah's cheek as she tucked a bookmark in place, closed the book and rested it in her lap. "Did you teach Lisa the headlock move?" he asked.

"No. I believe we have Carina to thank for that." She squinted at him. "Now that I think about it, I guess I need to teach them all how to escape from one."

Wiggling his eyebrows, he dropped his voice and said, "You can put me in a headlock anytime."

She shot him a sly wink. "I'll remember that." She laid her forearm and hand atop his, which rested on the armrest they shared. Their fingers entwined and she rubbed her thumb lazily across the top of his hand. "With everything being so crazy last night and this morning, we haven't really talked about my meeting tomorrow. How do you feel about it?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "I'm trying not to get too excited about it. You already warned me that it could be some crank trying to make a quick buck and he doesn't have any real intel at all."

The heaviness in his voice made her sad for him, but she didn't want to give him any false hopes. She was sure, though, that even with her warning, if the meeting turned out to be a bust, he was going to be devastated. "Let's be cautiously optimistic."

"Just be careful, okay?"

"I will. I've been on lots of these kinds of meets. And Casey's backing me up."

His smile flickered with concern. "The last two missions you've had, you've ended up on chases."

"That's true," she answered with a chuckle. "But I promise, if our bedroom arrangements in Prague are anything like the ones in Amsterdam, the only person I plan to be chasing is you."

He choked back a startled laugh and his smile reached his eyes. "I can definitely live with that."

She leaned over and sealed her promise with a kiss. "Deal."


	30. Czeching out Prague

**A/N the first: **Next Thursday is Thanksgiving Day here in the States. I can't think of a better time then now to take the opportunity to say how thankful I am for all of you. I'm thankful for the many friends I've made in this community and my life is richer because of you.

I'm also so very thankful for **AgentInWaiting**. I know I've said this many times before, but truly, this story would not be what it is without his input, questions, suggestions, and eye for detail. His ability to catch my many typos and fix my sometimes funky sentence structure was put to the test in this chapter as I was battling insomnia, headaches and my own personal Cave of Angst while writing it. (Thankfully, I'm feeling better.)

Finally, I'm thankful for my wonderful and supportive husband, **Mr. Q**, who is both amused and bemused by the crazy things I research, whether it be sapphire earrings or ear infections. And, of course, I'm thankful for **Lil Q**, an amazing person and daughter.

**Chapter 30 – Czeching out Prague**

It was late in the afternoon on Sunday when the train rolled into the station in Prague. The Bartowski/Woodcomb family paired off into teams as they disembarked and rolled their suitcases down the platform toward the main building. Sarah tried not to stare at the young couple standing under a blue sign with white lettering that read "_Praha hlavní nádraží_," but it was obvious with only one glance that things weren't good between them.

Once they were out of earshot of the couple, Lizzie—gripping her suitcase handle with one hand and Martie's hand with the other—hissed at Lisa walking next to her. "Did you see that couple back there? Man, something bad was happening."

"I know," Lisa whisper-shouted back, peering over her shoulder and then turning forward again. "She seemed confused, heartbroken and shocked, like he'd just gutted her with a knife. He looked totally miserable and sad."

Fred, rolling both his and Bridget's suitcase, snuck a peek back at the couple just before the group entered the main terminal. "If he's breaking up with her, he's an idiot. She's hot."

This, of course, caused everyone to turn around to look one more time. They all snapped forward quickly when the man turned, grim-faced, and walked away, leaving the woman alone on the platform.

"See?" Fred said. "He's an idiot."

"Alright, that's enough," Chuck warned mildly. Fred grew silent, but it was clear he was still amazed at the behavior of the man.

At the lull in the conversation, Lizzie took the opportunity to speak up again. "Not every relationship works out, Fred. Maybe he's not the man she thought he was. Look at Brock. I thought he was a nice guy, but he sure turned out to be a big jerk."

"If a guy ever causes one of my sisters have a hurt look like that on her face, he's going to have to answer to me." Fred's usual light and teasing tone was replaced by solemn earnestness.

Casey cut his eyes toward the teen and gave him a grunt of approval while Curtis nodded his head with vigor. Both Lizzie and Lisa smiled at their brother.

"Aunt Sarah, what did the sign above their heads say?" Bridget asked, holding tightly to Chuck's hand as they walked. Her health had vastly improved from the day before, but she still wasn't back to one hundred percent. "'_Praha_' is Czech for 'Prague' and '_hlavní nádraží_' is 'main railway station.' So if you see anything that says '_Praha_' that means Prague."

Bridget nodded and said, "Cool. I'll look for it."

They walked slowly through the station, staring up at the high, ornately decorated dome as they went. When they stopped at an ATM for Sarah to withdraw some Czech crowns for spending money, Curtis' eyes lingered on the statue of the bare-chested women on the wall over an archway. Casey growled, "Eyes front, soldier."

Curtis' stare dropped and he murmured a sheepish, "Sorry."

Sarah took the bills from the machine, handed half to Chuck, and stuffed the other half in her purse. Glancing at the money in his hand, his eyebrows rose when he saw the pile of two hundred crown notes. "Proceeds from your bank job in Dubai?" he said with a smile as he slid the bills in his wallet. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. "Thought I'd forgotten what Carina said before the Monopoly game, didn't you?" He lifted a fist and tapped the side of his head. "Everything about you goes in the vault, baby."

Sarah began to laugh. "Don't get too excited there, moneybags." He grinned at her tease. "Each one of those two hundred is the equivalent of about ten dollars."

"Aw, I was hoping to impress you by being a big spender."

"You're always impressive, Mr. Bartowski."

A chorus of groans rumbled as they headed down a level to take the metro to their place of lodging. Sarah negotiated the ticket machine and soon they were on their way. After a transfer and short walk, they arrived at their destination.

The building was situated on a narrow, residential street in _Staré Město_, the Old Town area of Prague. Morgan pulled out his clipboard from an outside pocket of his suitcase and said, "It's apartments like we had in Amsterdam, but this time it says there's someone onsite to give us the keys."

Sarah was glad there was someone there to check them in, since Bridget looked tired and in need of a rest. She met with the manager of the building, got the keys and found the first apartment. The "Man Cave, Prague Edition" was even more impressive than the apartment in Amsterdam. The two-bedroom was light and airy, with white walls and light stained hardwood floors. All the furniture was modern and angular and the color scheme was black and white.

Chuck blew out a whistle as they looked around. The boys immediately scoped out the bedrooms and were disappointed to find double beds in both. "Sorry, guys," Chuck said, slapping Fred on the back. As he walked past Casey on his way out the door, Chuck said, "Don't let them kill each other."

Casey's eyes turned steely and cut over to the two boys rolling their suitcases into one of the bedrooms, each trying to be the first one through the door. "Roger that."

"He might go Marine boot camp on them," Sarah said as they rode the lift to the next floor.

Her eyebrows rose when he answered in a tight voice, "It might do them some good."

She wasn't sure how to respond. In the end, she didn't have to. The lift door slid open and they walked down the hall and entered their apartment. It was decorated with the same color scheme as the one downstairs, the only significant difference being the parquet floors. They were pleased to find that the apartment had three bedrooms.

While the five girls checked out the bedrooms, their aunt and uncle stood in the living room just outside the master bedroom. Chuck wrapped his arms around Sarah's waist from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Looks like we have similar sleeping arrangements as we did in Amsterdam."

She rested her hands on his arms across her middle. "Mm-hmm."

"Do you remember your promise on the train? About bedroom arrangements?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Might there be 'chasing'?"

"You can count on it." She turned her head and kissed his cheek. "And I always catch my target."

A thrill shot through her when his arms tightened around her and she felt a rumbling growl in his chest. "We're gonna to start 'trying,'" he whispered.

Her heart pounded. "We are. And you never know how many times we'll have to try."

"I would think many, many times, Mrs. Bartowski."

"I'm thinking the same thing, Mr. Bartowski."

Megan walked up and stood in front of her uncle and aunt, still locked in their embrace. "Am I going to have another sleeping adventure in Lizzie and Lisa's room like I did in Amsterdam?"

Lizzie, who had followed her sister into the room, spoke up before either Chuck or Sarah could answer. "I was kind of hoping I could sleep on the sofa bed out here in the living room," she said. "It would kinda be like having my own room."

Sarah turned to look at her husband. He peeked back at her and shrugged. "I don't see why not. That way everyone gets a bed and Megan doesn't have to sleep on the floor," he said.

The little girl nodded somberly. "I haven't slept in a real bed since forever."

"Has it been that long, squirt?" Chuck said with a laugh. He released his hold on Sarah and the couple followed Martie and Megan into the room with the double bed. Once they had the two youngest settled, they checked on Lisa and Bridget in the room with the twin beds. Bridget was lying down on one.

Chuck sat down on the edge. "You were a champ with all the traveling today, especially when you're just starting to feel better." He patted her leg. "You take it easy for awhile and we'll get some food soon, okay?" She nodded in response.

Sarah touched the back of her fingers to Bridget's forehead. It was about the tenth time that day she had done so.

"Aunt Sarah, I'm fine," she said with a sigh.

"Just checking." She tweaked Bridget's nose with a finger and then followed Chuck out the door.

"I saw a supermarket about a block from here," he said as they went back into the living room. "How do you feel about you and me going shopping and making dinner for everyone tonight? We've eaten out every dinner for two weeks. I think we all could use a home cooked meal."

"That sounds great, but my cooking skills aren't," she answered.

"That's okay." He pulled her into his arms and whispered in her ear, "I appreciate your _other_ skills much more."

She grinned and put her lips right next to his ear. "Yes, but those skills won't feed the kids."

"Maybe not, but they make their uncle a happy man."

He jerked when she nipped his earlobe. "Come on, happy man. Let's go shopping."

~ O ~

Chuck and Sarah wandered up and down the aisles of Albert supermarket, trying to figure out what to make for dinner. While their shopping cart had staples like milk, yogurt and fruit, so far nothing they had seen had made much of an impact regarding the upcoming meal.

They cruised through the meat department and scanned the fowl in the poultry case. "Is that a chicken? That's a weird looking chicken," Chuck said.

She bent a little to get a better look at the label at the front of the tray. "That's because it's a duck."

"Well that explains it then. I believe the rule is if you don't know what kind of bird it is, you shouldn't be allowed to cook it."

"I'm with you there." She straightened, crossed her arms and looked at him. "Chuck, what are we going to make? I only know how to make a couple of things for dinner, and one of them is reservations."

He laughed out loud. Eyes flashing with amusement and pride, he said, "Very good, Mrs. Bartowski. Well done."

She grinned and was about to reply her thanks and take a small bow when a middle-aged woman approached and started speaking to her in excited tones. The woman's face was smiling and animated and she gestured with her hands as she talked. They had a short conversation where Sarah pointed at Chuck, eliciting a nod and smile from the woman. When the chat ended, the woman smiled wider, enthusiastically shook both of their hands and then pushed her shopping cart away.

Chuck looked from the retreating woman to his wife. "What was all that about?"

Sarah chuckled softly and said, "She heard you call me Bartowski."

"So?"

"So, she's Polish and from our name, she thought we were, too. She was confused, though, by you speaking English."

"You two were talking in Polish?"

"Mm-hmm."

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "You're amazing," he said quietly.

She smiled at the compliment. "Apparently, I look the part," she said with a smile. "Anyway, I told her that you are a rich American businessman with strict Polish parents who would only allow their son to marry a Polish girl. You found me on one of those Internet bride websites, came to Poland and swept me off my feet. We got married and now we're on our honeymoon here in Prague. Soon, you will take me to your home to America." While she told the story with a straight face, she couldn't disguise the mischievous glint in her eye.

His initial dumbfounded look was quickly replaced by a brilliant smile. "Well, then God bless the Internet. I got me a mail order bride," he said with a snicker. When his brows pulled together, he asked, "Why not just tell her you're American and speak Polish?"

She raised a shoulder and let it drop. "I don't know. Practice, I guess. In my job, I never know when I might need to come up with a story like that to throw someone off. Being able to—" she didn't want to use the word lie, "improvise is an important skill for a spy to have."

They started walking again, Chuck steering the cart toward the bread section. He cut his eyes toward her and asked, "You don't, ah, 'improvise' on me, do you?"

Her answer was quick and emphatic. "No, I don't." She hooked a hand around his arm at the elbow.

"What about that horrible woman that made all those rude comments about the kids the first time we went to dinner in Beaver Creek village? You improvised then, making it sound like we were the kids' biological parents."

She waved her free hand. "Technicality. By then, they _were_ my kids. And you _are_ handsome and sexy."

"But you did 'control yourself,'" he pointed out.

"Okay, _that_ was improvised." She bounced an eyebrow and murmured, "I don't have to control myself anymore."

It was a good thing she was there to help steer because he almost crashed the cart into a display of hamburger buns. "You enjoy doing that to…" His voice trailed off when his gaze rested on the small, paper American flag at the top of the rack that held the buns. A gleam of inspiration flashed in his eyes. "You know what we need? We need some good, old American food. How do burgers sound?"

Smiling, she said, "They sound great. It's too bad we can't barbeque. I hear Casey's quite the grill master."

"We'll figure it out." His face now beaming with excitement, he said, "Let's get the rest of the stuff for an American summer dinner."

Now that they had decided on dinner's "theme," they did some quick mental math to figure out the amount of food they needed to buy. After tossing several packages of buns into the cart, they went back to the meat department and got several pounds of ground beef. Then they were off to secure cheese, condiments and produce. In the frozen food section, Chuck picked up two packages of crinkle fries while Sarah placed a gallon of vanilla ice cream in the cart. His face flushed bright red when she gave him a lascivious look as she wordlessly set a jar of hot fudge sauce next to the container of ice cream.

He overcame his embarrassment and said, his words halting, "I kind of, um, like caramel sauce, too."

"Do you?" she purred at him. "I'll get some of that, too, then."

A happy grin spread and he nodded his head. "_Now_ we have everything we need."

~ O ~

When they returned from the supermarket and announced the planned menu, it was greeted with tremendous enthusiasm. Once the groceries were put away and music from Chuck's computer filled the apartment, the couple set to work. It was close quarters working in the tiny kitchen, but neither of them minded when they "accidently" bumped into each other since it always resulted in an "apologetic" kiss.

Chuck stared at the stack of twenty hamburger patties they had just finished forming and then at the two frying pans sitting atop two burners on the stove. "Even with two pans going, it's gonna take me a while to get all of these cooked."

She read the directions on the back of the package of crinkle fries and turned on the oven to preheat it. "Same goes for these," she said, setting the bag down and looking up at him. "I don't know how Mrs. Smith does it."

"The woman's a saint. Remind me to give her a raise when we get home."

She nodded and gazed at him thoughtfully. "There's another full kitchen downstairs. Why don't we recruit Casey to cook half of the burgers on that stove? And use their oven for some of the fries, too? It will cut the time by half."

He grinned and kissed her nose. "You, madam, are brilliant."

Casey agreed to help, after being bribed with a cold bottle of Czech beer and saying he realized getting the food on the table sooner would stop the boys from complaining about how they were going to starve to death. Once Casey was on board, it wasn't long before everyone was in on the preparations. Megan was the official "cheese-wrangler," carefully peeling off slices and handing them to Chuck when he was ready to melt them on the cooked burgers. Martie held the same position for Casey in the downstairs kitchen. Lizzie was put in charge of the crinkle fries in one oven while Fred was in charge of them in the other. Sarah used her considerable knife skills to slice up the tomatoes, pickles, and onions—even if the knife she used wasn't as sharp as she would have liked—and had Lisa arrange the produce on a plate and put out the condiments. Curtis was the designated courier between the two floors, carrying food back and forth as needed. Even Bridget, who was told to take it easy, helped by putting stacked plates and silverware out on the table.

Dinner was a huge success. Chuck and Sarah were pleased when everyone declared that the burgers were the best they'd ever tasted. Even Casey acknowledged the accolades for his part in the preparation by raising his bottle of beer in salute while Lizzie and Fred bowed when lauded for their awesome fry-making skills. The relaxed party atmosphere was like a balm to the frayed nerves and short fuses the kids had been exhibiting earlier.

Since Morgan, Barstow and Vegas had not helped during the preparation, they volunteered to take care of the cleanup. Sarah secretly took a picture of Barstow standing at the kitchen sink—the bubbles from the dish soap reaching his elbows—and forwarded it to Carina with a message that read, "You'll never be a _hausfrau_, but it looks like he'd make a pretty good _hausmann_."

She snickered when the return message read, "Rubber gloves aren't the only protection that man should be wearing. Where are you? I'm on my way."

It was some time later when Sarah stood in the kitchen and scooped the remains of the otherwise decimated bucket of ice cream into a bowl. She dribbled caramel sauce on half and fudge on the other. Grabbing a spoon and the bowl, she padded out of the kitchen and into the living room. The apartment was dark, other than the bluish glow on the walls from the television and the sliver of yellow light that shone from under the closed door of their bedroom.

"You girls don't stay up too late," she said.

"We won't," Lisa replied, her eyes never leaving the screen. "The movie will be over in a while."

Sarah glanced at Lizzie, whose attention was riveted to the television as well. "Okay. Good night."

"Good night," the girls responded together.

Closing the door behind her, she found Chuck already in bed, a book open on his lap. His eyes followed her as she walked to her side of the bed and set the bowl on the nightstand. She changed into her pink satin nightie with the black lace that crisscrossed at the top, slipped under the covers, and sat next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder with her feet tucked up. Picking up the bowl, she dug the spoon into the gooey fudge. When she lifted it to her mouth, it was mostly the chocolate topping with a little ice cream to go with it.

"I didn't think there was any ice cream left," Chuck said, watching the spoonful go into her mouth. "The amount in some of the bowls I saw was impressive."

"This is the last of it." She dipped the spoon back into the bowl—this time into the caramel covered ice cream—lifted it out and held it in front of his mouth. "We didn't get any earlier," she said, pulling the spoon from between his lips after he happily accepted the offered bite, "and I think we deserve it after the awesome dinner we pulled together."

"I agree." He closed the book, set it on the nightstand and turned off the small lamp. Shifting to face her, he asked, "What are the girls doing? I thought they were watching a movie."

She went to put another spoonful of fudge covered ice cream in her mouth when he intercepted it.

"Hey!"

"What?" If he was trying to look innocent, he was failing miserably. "I like fudge, too."

"Fine," she answered, and made a show of taking a big scoop of the caramel and ice cream and popping it in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back and she nearly moaned with pleasure. It was sweeter than the fudge, but so delicious.

Chuckling at her reaction, he said, "See? I told you caramel was good."

His eyes dropped to her lips when she ran her tongue over them to remove the lingering sticky sweetness. He was entranced and distracted, even as she fed him another bite. Answering his question from before, she said, "They are. The sound is low so it won't bother us."

He cocked his head to listen and nodded when he heard the low muffle through the wall. "So, they're occupied?" he asked, slightly dazed.

Ice cream now gone, she scraped the bottom of the bowl and dislodged the globs of topping stuck there. She took one swipe at the spoon with her tongue and then held it up for Chuck to have a turn at it. Once he obliged, she dropped the now licked clean spoon in the empty bowl and placed the container on the nightstand. After switching off the lamp on her side of the bed, she scooted closer to him. "Mm-hmm."

"Mm-hmm, what?" he asked, his breathing shallow.

"You asked if the girls were occupied." She moved closer still, her body now pressing against his.

"I did?" he croaked.

"Mm-hmm." She kissed him and tasted the caramel still on his lips. He shuddered when she slowly ran the tip of her tongue over them, enjoying the sweet flavor. When she caught his lower lip between hers and gave it a gentle suck, he growled, gripped her by the waist and slid them both down until they lay flat. His deep kiss spread warmth through her whole body. When he broke the kiss and lifted his head, she put a hand on the back of his neck to pull him back down. He responded, but only lowered his head part way, teasing her by slowly brushing his slightly parted lips back and forth across hers.

"Chuck, please." Her whisper was urgent and every inch of her body ached for him. Unable to ever deny her anything, he complied. Twice.

~ O ~

"Are you sure the cash is safe, Walker?" Casey asked in a low voice as they walked on the cobblestone sidewalk toward the entrance to Prague Castle.

"Yes, Casey, I'm sure." She gave him a side-glance and said, "Let's put it this way. The only person who has a chance of getting their hands on the five thousand euros and _not_ have their hand sliced off is my husband." The major grimaced while Chuck waggled his eyebrows at her. She responded with a wink and a smile.

It was mid-morning as the group approached an arched entrance to the castle grounds. On either side of the archway, two armed guards—dressed in blue tunics, grey slacks and adorned with golden shoulder epaulets and red, white and blue shoulder cords—stood at attention in front of a gray and white striped guard box. They walked through the tunnel-like entryway and entered a courtyard.

Looking around at the buildings, Lizzie asked, "Which building is the castle?"

"Prague Castle isn't just one big building like some castles are," Sarah answered. "This whole complex of buildings is called the castle." She looked down at the map they'd received at the ticket window and considered what would be most interesting for the kids to visit while they wandered around the courtyard, looking at the stone fountain at the center. Standing next to something that looked like a human-sized birdcage, Fred said with a grin, "Come here, Curtis. Let's see if you'll fit."

"Yeah," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I don't think so."

"Fred," Chuck called out with a mild warning. "Don't imprison your brother."

Sarah glanced over to see a huge, impish grin on her nephew's face. Chuckling, she returned her attention back to the map. Because of her meet later in the afternoon, the specific timing of Morgan's clipboard had been altered and she was now the one to decide how the day would go. "We're never going to see everything here in just one day, especially since we need to leave by about three o'clock," she said to Chuck. "I think we should try to hit the highlights, so we start with St. Vitus Cathedral, which is right through that entryway," she continued, indicating the direction to go with a nod of her head, "and walk from there." She gently prodded him with an elbow to get his attention. He glanced at her and then down at the map where her finger indicated where he should look. "We _have_ to go here."

He smiled at what he read. "Definitely," Chuck answered. "Lay on, Macduff."

They rounded up the group and herded them through the breezeway into another courtyard, where they stood before the ornate edifice of the cathedral. There was a large circular stained glass window between two tall spires.

Standing next to Sarah, Bridget said, "The patterns and detail on that window are amazing."

She gave her niece a side-hug, relieved that Bridget had rallied and was doing so much better. "They really are. It's called a rose window. I'm sure it will be even more spectacular from the inside of the cathedral."

They entered the ancient church through an open doorway and passed by its massive, intricately carved wooden door. Once inside, every head immediately tipped back and gazed up at the ribbed vault ceiling that soared impossibly high overhead. The verticality of the two incredibly tall walls that ran the length of the nave was dizzying.

"How do they get the ceiling so high?" Fred asked. He pointed over to the series of columns and pointed arches that rang along the length of the nave. "It seems like the walls would get too tall and just collapse under the weight."

At that, Megan's and Martie's eyes grew wide with worry and looked up at the ceiling again.

"Don't worry. It's not going to collapse," Sarah said to the two little ones. "It's been here for hundreds of years."

Chuck gave his nephew a pointed look. He shrugged and mouthed, "Sorry."

"To answer your question, Fred, the walls don't collapse because they built support structures on the outside of the walls to take on the load. They're called 'flying buttresses.'" Sarah pressed her lips together to keep from grinning at the chorus of snorts and snickers at the word "buttress." When the giggling ended, she said, "I'll point them out when we go outside."

They split off into smaller groups and wandered around the cathedral. Sunlight glowed through the large rose window above where they had entered. Smaller stained glass windows illumined the small alcove-like "chapels" that ran along the inside perimeter of the building. They peered over and through gold gilded screens to take in the statues, candles, paintings, crucifixes and tombs in the chapels.

Megan stared at an effigy of a king lying flat on top of a rectangular tomb. Frowning, she asked, "Why is there a statue of a guy sleeping on top of that big stone box?"

Once again, Sarah was the one to field Megan's thorny question. She decided to just tell her what it was and see where the conversation went. "The box is tomb."

"There's a dead guy in it?" she asked, her frown deepening.

"Mm-hmm. The figure on top is what he looked like when he was king."

"Or at least what he looked like when he was sleeping when was king," Martie said.

Sarah chuckled. "That's true, sweetie. Good point."

Megan scratched her nose. "How come he's not buried in the ground?"

"Being entombed in a place like this is an honor. Cathedrals and churches all over Europe have tombs like this for kings, queens, saints, famous military leaders, people like that."

Megan silently stared at the tomb again, obviously thinking about all this new information. "I'm not sure I'd like to be a queen if I had to have people looking at me all the time when I was dead. I think I'd get tired of it after a while."

Sarah grinned and used a finger to move a lock of the girl's hair behind her shoulder. "I think you're right. It would get old."

Over the hum of voices that echoed through the cavernous cathedral, Sarah heard a hissing sound. Her gaze swept around the area in an attempt to locate it.

"Pssssssst."

Her head turned to the right, where she saw Lizzie motioning for them come to where she and the rest of the family had congregated in a doorway. When they caught up, Martie and Megan wiggled their way through the group to get to the front. Peering over her nieces' and nephews' heads, Sarah realized the room was a chapel. Based on the incredibly ornate decorations, she knew it was a place of great value and importance. Rich frescoes covered the walls. Gold and scarlet dominated the room.

"Wow," Lizzie said in quiet awe. "It's breathtaking."

Chuck's thumb brushed over the screen of his phone as he read from it. "This is the Chapel of St. Wenceslaus. He's the patron saint of the Czech lands. He was duke of Bohemia a thousand years ago. That's a statue of him just above the altar." After skimming more information, he added, "He was martyred on his way to church. Wenceslaus' younger brother, a guy by the name of Boleslav the Cruel, was involved in the plot that killed him."

"I want a 'the' name like that guy." Fred threw his shoulders back and raised his chin. "From now on, you may call me 'Fred the Awesome.'"

The response was a mixture of groans and snickers. "More like 'Fred the Dork,'" Lisa said, rolling her eyes.

"That's 'Fred the _Awesome_ Dork' to you, peasant," he replied with mock haughtiness.

When the laughter subsided, Chuck continued. "Anyway, this chapel is built on top of where Wenceslas was first buried. His relics are kept here."

"What are relics?" Martie asked.

Sarah gently patted Chuck on the back and gave him a brilliant smile. "Take it away, sweetie."

He squinted at her and then returned a resigned smile. Heaving a sigh, he answered, "Body parts of important religious people."

"Ew," Martie said with a scowl.

"Cool! Are there pictures?" Curtis asked, moving to stand next to Chuck to peek at his phone. "Awesome! There's a guy carrying Wenceslaus' skull on a fancy red and gold pillow. It's wearing a crown." That meant, of course, that the rest of the kids—even the two little ones—clustered around him to see the regally adorned skull.

"That's amazing," Bridget said, her eyes wide with fascination. "Can we go in and see it up close?

"Nope. The doorway is as far as they'll allow us to go," Chuck said. "You see all those colored stones around the lower part of the walls? Those are real, semiprecious gems. The joints between them are covered with gold. This room is literally jewel encrusted. I guess they don't want people coming in and trying to pry gemstones off the wall."

"I bet that big box over there—the one with the little red tent on top of it—is his tomb," Megan said with authority.

Chuck's eyebrows rose and he gave Sarah a questioning look.

"We had a discussion about that a few minutes ago," she said in a low tone.

"She _is_ a sponge," he responded to her in the same quiet voice. To Megan he said, "You're right, squirt. It is."

A self-satisfied smile formed on the little girl's face as she nodded slowly. "I knew it."

As a group, they left the doorway of the chapel, ready to depart the cathedral. When they exited it, they found themselves in a third, different courtyard.

"That building over there sure looks different than the outside of the cathedral," Lisa said, pointing first at the gothic stone church with its soaring spires and then at a long, rectangular building with uniformly sized and spaced windows all across the front façade.

It was Casey who answered this time. "They've been putting up buildings on this spot for a thousand years. There've been wars and fires. I'm sure the commies didn't do the buildings any favors during the Cold War, either."

"Why is the roof red on that part of the building and gray on another?" Martie asked.

Sarah opened the map again and Chuck peered over her shoulder at it. "That over there," he said, indicating the part of the building with the red roof, "is the Old Royal Palace." Then he pointed to the right further down the building to a semi-circle of columns. The columns supported a balcony and under it were two sets of large wooden double doors. "That is the entrance to the New Royal Palace."

"The Old and New look the same from the outside," Lizzie said.

"The New Royal Palace is where the Czech president works," Casey said.

Martie's eyes brightened. "Is it like the White House?"

"Yeah, I guess it kind of is."

"It'd have to be called the Pink House," Megan observed. "It kinda looks like my Barbie Townhouse at home."

"I'm not sure that's what they're going for, but that works," Chuck answered with a smile.

"We can't tour the New Royal Palace," Sarah mused to Chuck. "I say we go through the Old Royal Palace, skip St. George's Convent—"

He interrupted her when he put an arm around her and pulled her close. "You have something against convents, Sister Sarah?" he whispered in her ear.

Bumping with her shoulder, she whispered in reply, "I think it's pretty well established that I would _not_ make a very good nun."

"I'm very glad for that," he said, kissing her cheek.

"Besides, it's not an active convent anymore. It's an art museum."

"Oh. Well then, let's keep moving," he said. "The herd is beginning to wander."

They corralled the kids and entered the Old Royal Palace. They walked through the cavernous Vladislav Hall and toured the building, taking in more art, paintings, tombs and monuments. The highlight for Chuck and Sarah was their PDA time on the balcony just off Vladislav Hall, as they enjoyed the spectacular vistas of the city from the heights of the castle while engaging in other activities. The highlight for the kids was seeing the Czech crown jewels, even if they were copies. As they left the Old Royal Palace and walked toward the Golden Lane, Bridget asked, "If those were copies, where are the real jewels?"

"There's a secret room in the Chapel of St. Wenceslaus. The jewels are kept there behind a door with seven locks," Sarah answered. "And the safe they're in has seven locks."

"Why seven locks?" Lisa asked.

"It's a safety precaution. Seven Czech officials each have a different key. The door can't be opened unless all seven of them are there."

"That's pretty smart," Lizzie said.

"Should I ask how you happened to know that off the top of your head?" Chuck whispered to Sarah. He grinned when his wife responded with an enigmatic smile.

"Were the crowns we saw in London fake?" Martie asked. Megan looked up at her aunt, obviously wanting to hear the answer, too.

"No. Those were very real."

The two little girls gave each other satisfied nods.

After buying food at a small café, they entered the Golden Lane and walked slowly down the narrow cobbled way.

"These houses are so small, they look like doll houses," Bridget observed.

Sarah looked at the row of tiny, brightly painted houses that were built up against the outer wall of the castle complex. "Some of the people that worked at the castle used the live here. Later on, people rented them."

They stopped and stood with the crowd of people outside house number twenty-two.

"What's the big deal about this one?" Fred asked.

"Franz Kafka lived here for about a year," Sarah answered, consulting her map again.

"No!" Lizzie said, horror edging into her voice.

Curtis frowned at his sister. "Who's that? What's deal with him?"

"Let's just say the man had issues." When the confusion didn't clear from Curtis' face, Lizzie said, "I had to read one of the stories he wrote in my lit class last year. It's called _The_ _Metamorphosis_."

Megan tugged at her oldest sister's hand. "What does that mean?"

"It's just a big word for 'change.'"

Martie got in on the inquisition now. "Did something change?"

Lizzie snorted. "I'll say. The main character of the story wakes up one morning to find that overnight he'd turned into a giant bug."

Fred, Curtis and Morgan thought that was the coolest thing they'd ever heard and began an animated discussion about what it would be like to have six legs and a hard shell. Megan wasn't as enamored by the idea and moved to stand behind her aunt. "I don't want to go in that house." Martie—eyes wide with concern—nodded.

"That's okay, Megs," Chuck said, scooping her up and settling her on his shoulders. "We have one more place to stop and we think you'll really like it."

"It doesn't have any giant bugs or dead bodies, does it?" came the question from above.

Sarah suppressed a snort. Their niece had clearly had her fill of history for the day. "No, it doesn't."

The group left the Golden Lane the way they had come in, followed a meandering path to another lane, and turned left. A short distance down the walkway, they approached an archway in a wall to their side. A sign with a boy dressed in Victorian clothes holding a bugle to his mouth hung perpendicular from the wall. Two of the words on the placard that dangled below the figure were in English.

"Hey, I can read that," Martie said, her voice brimming with pride. She gasped and said, "It says 'toy museum.'"

Still perched on Chuck's shoulders, Megan sat up straighter. "That sounds like fun!"

Chuck gave Sarah a wink and set the wiggly girl back on her feet. "We think you'll like it," he said evenly.

They walked through a simple, unassuming rough timber doorway. Unlike the dark, grand and ornate places they had visited elsewhere in the castle, the rooms in the toy museum were modern and brightly lit. And, as expected, the display cases were filled with toys. Everyone, including the adults, scattered through the rooms and gazed into the cases. The older dolls and wooden Victorian toys weren't particularly popular with the family, but Casey camped out in front of the World War I figurines, World War II airplanes and wind up cars while the boys spent most of their time in front of the train sets and miniature villages. The girls peered into the cases holding dolls of different eras and the giant display of teddy bears.

Once they had completed their circuit though the first floor, they climbed the stairs to the second where they were immediately greeted by a life-sized figure of Jar Jar Binks.

Morgan slapped a hand to his forehead and cried out, "Why? Why is _he_ here? He's ruining a perfectly good day!"

No one paid attention to his concerns once the rest of the family realized what the second floor display cases contained. Every eye was trained on Megan, watching her reaction. Stunned, she stood rooted to the floor. Her big blue eyes never blinked as her gaze slowly moved from one display to the next. After a moment, tears formed and she swallowed hard. Her voice was a whisper of awed reverence. "Look at all the Barbies."

The whole family, even Megan's brothers, grinned at her being so completely overwhelmed by what was before her. "That, right there," Chuck said, gently taking Sarah's hand in his and giving it an affectionate squeeze, "just made the whole trip for me."

Sarah swiped at the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. "Yeah, me too." Clearing her throat, she gave Megan a gentle push on the back. "You have a lot of Barbies to look at. You'd better get started."

The shock wore off and Megan ran to the first case and stood before it, drinking it all in. Lizzie followed her little sister and knelt down by her, reading aloud the words on the placards inside the case.

While Lizzie stayed with Megan, Chuck and Sarah walked around together, gazing into the cases and snickering at the clothes on the Barbies and Kens from decades past. "Check out the Groovy Fringed Leather Vest Ken," Chuck said with a laugh.

"Psychedelic Barbie next to him is looking pretty stylish, too." They walked to the next case and stopped dead in their tracks. "Oh boy," Sarah mumbled.

Chuck bent over to get a closer look at the doll in question. It was topless, showing off the removable baby inside her belly. "Wow! Um, wow." He straightened, bent over and then straighten again. "At least the baby's not breech," he said dryly.

Snickering, she added, "It's nice that Dr. Ken is there for the delivery." She looked over at Lizzie and Megan studying the display case that held some "athletic" Barbies. "Should we warn Lizzie about this one?"

"Nah. If Megan starts to ask questions, you can handle them."

"Me?" Her voice was louder than she'd intended it to be. Dropping it, she asked, "Why can't _you_ answer her questions?"

"Because you'll be the one in that state someday, not me."

Her stomach flipped at his statement in a jumble of excitement and nerves. "Someday," she repeated softly.

Fingers still intertwined, the two wandered into another section where they found Casey leaning his forearm on the left shoulder of a life-sized Superman and looking bored. Approaching him, Chuck said, "All the girls except Lisa are still in the Barbie exhibit. Have you seen her?"

Without a word, he jutted his chin toward a display case where Lisa huddled around it with her brothers and Morgan. "Fair warning, Walker. Between Barbie and the nerds, we're never going to get out of here."

Curiosity piqued, she walked with Chuck over to the display in question and gazed into it. One glance at the AT-AT told her that Casey was right. She kissed her husband's grinning cheek and ambled back to where her partner stood. She stopped on the other side of Superman, rested her arm the Man of Steel's right shoulder and mirrored Casey's stance. "You're right. We're never going to get out of here."

~ O ~

Sarah slipped off her wedding and engagement rings and slid them into the slot inside the red ring box for safekeeping. Snapping the lid closed, she set the box on the nightstand and put her foot up on the side of their bed. Tugging up the hem of her jeans, she exposed her calf and the holster of knives strapped to it just above the top of her ankle boots. She eyed Chuck with amusement upon hearing his noises of appreciation from where he sat on his side of the bed as she checked the knives and holster to ensure they were secure.

"I just want to say, I never get tired of watching you get dressed for any reason to go anywhere at any time."

She felt her cheeks warm at his compliment and gave him a shy smile. Checking the battery icon on her phone, she noted that it was charged to fifty percent, which was more than enough for the rest of the evening. Slipping it into her back pocket, she said, "Remind me when we get back here after dinner to charge my phone."

"Roger that, Agent Walker," he replied with a smile.

She gave him a side-eyed glance and then returned her attention to her Smith & Wesson. After checking the magazine and confirming that it was fully loaded, she slapped it back into place and slipped the pistol into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back. "I'm not sure exactly how long this meeting will be. I hope it's not too long. I know the kids will be getting hungry pretty soon," she said as she pulled on a light jacket to cover the gun bulge at her back.

His eyes never left her as she finished her preparations. "We can wait until you and Casey get back. Are you sure you don't want us to meet you at the square where you'll be? It's really close. We all could just walk there like what you and Casey are going to do. Vegas and Barstow would be with us."

Flipping her hair out from under the collar of her jacket, she shook her head. "No, Morgan's clipboard decrees that we're to go check out the location of the Prague Buy More on Wenceslaus Square tonight and then eat at a nearby restaurant. I've already messed with his clipboard today. I don't want to foul it up for him tonight, too. When we get back from the meet, we'll all go together."

"Okay."

Finally, she took her earwig from the case and placed it in her ear. "Casey, you online?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," came his response in her ear. "You ready to go?"

"I'll be down in a minute."

"Roger that."

Chuck sat up straighter, swung his feet behind him and stood on his knees on the mattress. Tugging at the front of her jacket, he pulled her toward him, compelling her to climb onto the mattress and stand on her knees, mirroring him. "Maybe we can have some more alone time this evening," he said, wiggling one eyebrow.

She bounced one eyebrow in response. "You can count on it."

"You trying to make me puke, Walker?" Casey snarled in her ear. She had to work to keep from rolling her eyes.

Chuck brushed a bit of hair from her forehead and looked her in the eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she said and shared a soft kiss. It was so lovely, she was even able to block out Casey's annoyed grunt. "I have to go," she said, giving him another quick kiss and then sliding off the bed onto her feet. "See you soon," she said as she opened the bedroom door.

"Be safe," he called out after her.

She called out her goodbyes to the girls. Looking up from the TV, they waved and called out their good wishes. She waved back as she closed the door behind her.

By the time she exited the elevator, Casey had just opened the Man Cave door. Sarah poked her head into the apartment and waved to Fred and Curtis. "Bye, guys."

"Bye Aunt Sarah. Bye Uncle Casey. See you later."

The two agents hurried down the steps and walked out to the sidewalk. "Do me a favor, Walker," Casey said, his face twisting into a grimace. "Next time you say goodbye to your husband, do it _before_ you put in your earwig."

Laughing, she said, "Roger that."

~ O ~

Sarah arrived at _Staroměstské náměstí_, the Old Town Square, a few minutes before four o'clock and walked to Caffrey's, located on a narrow lane just off the northeast corner of the square. She and Casey arrived at different times, knowing it was important that they not be seen together. Vegas reconned the area earlier in the day and advised Casey to take up his backup position at the outdoor seating section of the George and Dragon, a British pub next Caffrey's Irish Pub. When Sarah approached the area, she saw Casey from the corner of her eye sitting at a table under a long awning with a glass of pilsner in front of him. Neither acknowledged the other and even to a watchful observer, it appeared they didn't know each other at all.

Large gold letters spelling out the name of the pub were attached to the wall above the arched entrance into the building. Two flags—the green, white and orange of the Irish and the red, white and blue of the Czech—hung limply on the poles secured to the wall to the right of the doorway.

The pub was not particularly busy, but Sarah knew the crowds would grow as the afternoon and evening wore on. It was fine with her that the meeting was to take place at a time when she and Mr. X could converse without having to shout over noisy customers.

She glanced around at the crimson walled interior as she waited for the bartender—a young man dressed in black pants and a black shirt—to approach. In Czech he asked, "What can I get for you?"

"Kopparberg Blueberry, _prosím_." She scrutinized his face, watching for any change, any sign that what she had ordered was somehow significant to him. She detected nothing in his demeanor when he nodded, turned, took a bottle from the refrigerated case behind him and set it on the bar. After opening the bottle, he reached under the bar and placed a glass next to it. Being sure to take the Czech crowns from her right jeans pocket—she had five thousand euros in the left one—she paid the bartender, took the bottle and glass and walked back outside. Only a few of the tables were occupied, so she chose one at the back corner of the patio. With the building to her back, she had an unobstructed view of the area. Her gaze swept the space around her as she slowly poured the cider into the glass and placed the bottle on the table in front of her. Leaning back in her chair, she dropped her voice and said, "Anything?"

"Negative. No movement toward your position," Casey replied.

"Copy." The bright notes of a trumpet drifted across the square. She knew they came from the live trumpeter at the top of the tower where the Orloj, the famous astronomical clock, was situated about a hundred yards from her position. At the top of every hour, the clock chimed and figures on either side of the clock face moved and animated. Spotting the clock tower to her left, she made a mental note to herself to be sure to bring the family to view it.

She glanced around again to see if anyone was coming toward her. The only movement she noticed was a curtain being pulled back in one of the open windows on the upper floor of the building to her left. She was about to ask Casey if he saw anything when she felt a sudden, pinching pain in her left bicep. Her right hand flew across her body to her arm where it felt a tranquilizer dart. She tried to tell Casey she was in trouble, but was unable to speak. The voices around her echoed and grew distant as her vision blurred and grew black at the edges. The sounds in her ears eddied and swirled until silence overtook them and the world went dark.

~ O ~

**A/N the second:** As I mentioned above, next Thursday, November 22, is Thanksgiving Day. I will be taking part in the American tradition of eating too much, watching too much football (never!) and succumbing to the soporific effects of L-Tryptophan. Therefore, I won't be posting a chapter next week. I hope to have one ready for November 29.

**AgentInWaiting's Beta Note: **It's not my fault. It's not my fault. It's not my fault.


	31. Wishing You Were Here

**A/N the first: **I've said it before and I'll say it again, thank you for reading, reviewing, tweeting, PMing, and sending encoded messages though my TV. To that person who found the radio frequency that the filling in my tooth picks up, message received. Seriously, though, I love hearing from you and thank you for taking the time to contact me.

A huge thank you goes to my ever patient and longsuffering beta, **AgentInWaiting**. Working with him on each chapter makes it better. And it may seem strange, but knowing he's there to catch and correct my many mistakes allows me the freedom to make them. Thank you, sir.

Off we go.

**Chapter 31 – Wishing You Were Here**

Chuck twisted his wrist to check the time on his watch for the third time in the last ten minutes. It had been over an hour since the meeting with the mysterious Mr. X was scheduled to start and every glance at the beautiful Cartier his wife had given him only made him wonder how things were going for her. He didn't want to bother her if she was still in the middle of the meeting, so he focused his attention back on the movie he'd put in the DVD player to keep Martie and Megan occupied while they waited for Sarah and Casey's return.

Another fifteen minutes passed as his gaze flicked between the television screen and the screen of his phone sitting on his thigh. He wanted to be sure he didn't miss her call or text telling him they were on their way back. There were plenty of reasons why she hadn't checked in, the main one being that Mr. X had arrived late and they were just now transacting their business. He also reminded himself that her missions never seemed to go as planned and there was a good chance she and Casey were off chasing someone through the narrow streets of Prague. Unfortunately, that didn't make him feel much better.

As the time crept to five-thirty, he broke down and sent her a text to ask how things were going. Even if she couldn't respond right away because she was still in conference with Mr. X—or perhaps apprehending Mr. X—it would remind her to contact him as soon as she was available. Just to be on the safe side, he sent a text to Casey, too, not caring that it would probably provoke a snarky response back. It didn't bother him too much when there was no response from either. Having been on the mission in Paris with Casey, Ilsa and Sarah, he knew firsthand how fluid situations like the one she was in could be.

It was nearly six o'clock when there was a knock on the door. He opened it and let Lizzie and Curtis in.

"When are Aunt Sarah and Uncle Casey coming back? I'm hungry," Curtis grumbled.

"Soon, I hope," he answered. "I texted both of them a little while ago, but I haven't heard back from them yet." To Lizzie, he asked, "What are Fred and Lisa doing?"

She rolled her eyes. "They're with Uncle Morgan. They found some stupid movie to watch called _Mega Piranha_."

"This is a DVD?" he asked. He was surprised that someone would actually spend money on a movie like that.

"Nah. It's on TV," she said. "It's been dubbed into Czech. Let's just say the dialogue isn't the main reason you'd want to watch that movie in the first place. I had to leave when a giant piranha jumped out of the water and took a helicopter right out of the sky."

Chuck snorted. It sounded like something he and Morgan would have watched when they were teenagers.

"How much longer are we going to wait for them to come back before we just go and eat? I'm hungry," the boy stated again.

"I think we're all aware of that, Curtis," Chuck said, trying to keep the irritation from edging into his voice. "Aunt Sarah asked us to wait for them and we will. It shouldn't be too much longer." He checked his phone again. There were still no calls or texts. "I'm going to call and see what's up."

Sarah's phone rang until it went to voice mail. "Hey," he said after the beep, "it's me. We're wondering how things are going and when you'll be coming back to the apartments. Call me as soon as you can. Love you. Bye." Next, he called Casey's phone, only to be sent to voicemail as well. He didn't leave a message.

Bridget wandered into the living room from the bedroom where she had been resting and reading. Looking around, she said, "I heard voices. I thought Aunt Sarah and Uncle Casey were back."

"No. Not yet." Worry began to seep into his brain. Trying to combat it, he reminded himself that Sarah was one of the best spies in the CIA and could take care of herself. She had been on much more dangerous missions than meeting a contact in a pub. He had, however, limited experience as being the husband waiting for his wife the spy to come home after a mission and he was battling against a tide of rising nerves. Perhaps one day, after many more missions, he wouldn't be worried so easily. Right now, he was.

"Why don't you use your GPS app on your phone and see if she's either still at the pub or walking back now?" Lizzie asked. "Maybe she didn't get your messages."

"That's a good idea," Chuck said and opened the app. It took a few seconds for a purple dot to show her position on the map. He scowled at the screen. "Okay, this is weird. It says she's a couple of miles northeast of here. Across the Vltava River in a district called Praha 7." He zoomed in on the satellite view of the area. "It looks like the area is called Holešovice." His frown deepened and the worry moved from his brain to his heart, now beginning to pound. "That doesn't make any sense. It looks like old warehouses or something."

"Maybe the accuracy is off on exactly where she is," Lizzie suggested.

Chuck thought for a moment. "I wouldn't be surprised at it being off by even a hundred yards, but a couple of miles? That doesn't seem right."

"Maybe they decided to move the meeting and she wasn't supposed to tell anyone," Megan piped up from the couch.

Chuck turned and considered his niece. She was right. There was a good chance the pub was only the initial meeting place and they moved someplace else for some reason. "That's good thinking, Megan." Tired of guessing, wondering, worrying and waiting, he decided to go see what Vegas and Barstow thought of the current situation. "Liz, watch your sisters, please. I'm gonna go see what Vegas and Barstow's take on this is. Don't open the door unless it's one of us."

His eldest niece nodded and sat down in an empty chair. "Oooo. I love this movie."

"I'm going back downstairs with you," Curtis said with a groan. "I don't want to watch _The Princess Diaries_ for the four hundredth time. I'd rather watch giant piranha bite people in half and watch their blood spray everywhere."

"It's not _The Princess Diaries_. It's _The Princess Diaries 2_," Megan informed him with a roll of her eyes, as if her brother was the dumbest person in the world for not knowing the difference between the two movies. "See? Queen Clarisse is singing about crowns and stuff." The little girl's gaze drifted back to the TV as she sighed, "She's my favorite."

Chuck decided not to weigh in on the fact that she wasn't exactly getting the point of the song. Instead, he clapped his nephew on the back. "Come on. Let's go."

Rather than wait for the lift, they took the stairs down one flight and knocked at the door, knowing it would be locked. It was Barstow who opened it.

"You look surprised to see me, Scott," Chuck said as Barstow stepped back to allow them entrance into the Man Cave.

Curtis sauntered over to the couch and sat down just as Morgan, Fred and Lisa—eyes glued to the giant fish carnage on the screen—all cringed and shouted, "Ohhhhh!"

"I'm sorry, sir. I expected it to be Major Casey."

Chuck spun on him. "You heard from him? Are they on their way back?"

"I don't know, sir. He hasn't contacted either of us." Barstow looked to Vegas who walked into the living room from the kitchen and joined them just inside the closed door. He nodded his confirmation of Barstow's statement.

"You haven't heard from Agent Walker?" Barstow asked.

"No, and I'm getting a little worried. I checked to see where Sarah is on my GPS app on her phone and it says she's northeast of here in an area with warehouses." He opened the app and examined it again, hoping the purple dot had moved from where it was before, that it was moving toward them. He sighed in disappointment and turned the phone so that the agents could view it. They both looked at the map.

"Do you have a fix on the Major's location?" Vegas asked.

Chuck huffed a breath. "No. Casey wouldn't let me put the app on his phone. He told me in his own special way he wasn't one of the kids and didn't need me hovering over him like his 'mother.'"

"I think he used the word, 'mommy,'" Fred interjected from the couch.

Ignoring the comment from his nephew, Chuck continued on. "We thought maybe they moved to this other location for the actual meeting and that the pub was a starting place." Another idea struck him. "Or maybe there's evidence he wanted to show her but had to keep it hidden."

"Both are definite possibilities, sir," Vegas said. "We could wait a while longer and see if they let us know what's going on. Or, Barstow or I could go to Agent Walker's location and ascertain the situation."

Chuck glanced at his watch for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last hour and weighed the different options presented. It was now six-thirty. Unless Sarah and Casey walked through the door in the next five minutes, it was getting to be too late to go to Wenceslaus Square for dinner as they had planned. They hadn't picked up any groceries either since they had planned to eat out, so there was nothing to feed the kids for dinner in either apartment. Swiping his thumb across the phone screen again, he moved the map to scrutinize the area around them for available food. "There's a pizza place right around the corner from here, not more than about a two minute walk. And there's a sandwich shop next door." Addressing the kids, he asked, "Are you guys sick of pizza? You want sandwiches instead?"

"Pizza!" the kids—and Morgan—responded together.

"I'll go get pizzas, and if they aren't back by the time I am, we'll go to where Sarah is," Chuck said.

"I'm going with you to the pizzeria, sir," Vegas said. "If Agent Walker found out we allowed you to go out unaccompanied, we'll be assigned to monitoring radio traffic at an outpost in Siberia." There was no mirth in his statement and the seriousness on his face told Chuck that what he said was probably true. His wife was both feared and highly respected amongst the employees of the Agency. He also knew that she wouldn't be very happy with him, either, if he went out by himself.

"Okay, Lars. Let's go."

~ O ~

Fragile tendrils of consciousness slithered into Sarah's brain and attempted to overcome the muddled fogginess. As she fought to grasp onto the tenuous threads of wakefulness, the faraway recesses of her mind pushed forward thoughts that this fight to awaken wasn't right, that all of this was artificial, that she should already be awake. It was like her mind was swimming blindly in a murky swamp, trying to find the surface to break free. Even as she struggled to hold on—to pull herself from the haze—consciousness grew elusive. She lost the battle and was pulled away again into nothingness.

~ O ~

Chuck had called and texted both Sarah and Casey several more times in the almost hour that he and Vegas endured the slow service at the pizzeria. Even as they returned to the apartment building with dinner for the kids, he'd hoped he would see Sarah's beautiful face smiling at him when he walked through the door. He would have happily accepted any teasing she might have sent his way for him being such a worrywart. It was not to be, for neither his wife nor her partner were there upon his return.

The entire time Chuck had been out getting food for his kids, he had been at war with himself. He had paced up and down the sidewalk outside the restaurant, trying to figure out what he should do. It was clear something was wrong as Sarah would have at least called him by now. All he wanted to do was go find his wife and bring her back safely. However, he was the parent of seven children—seven children who had already lost their mother and father. He was torn between his responsibilities to his children and the vows he'd made to his wife.

The conflict in his mind continued to rage as he placed the pizza boxes on the table and called the kids—now all in the upstairs apartment—to come eat. They didn't attack the food like ravenous hyenas as he expected. Instead, as all seven approached the table, their attention was on him and not on the pizza. Each face gazed back at him with unwavering resolve and determination.

As the oldest, it was Lizzie who spoke for the entire group. "It's time for you to go find Aunt Sarah and Uncle Casey."

Not expecting that, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Me? Are you sure? What about Vegas and Barstow going and me staying here with you?"

"No." Fred shook his head emphatically. "We'd go look for them ourselves if we thought you'd let us." Six heads nodded.

"Besides, one of the agents has to stay here and protect us kids while you're gone," Lisa said. Seven sets of eyes snapped from Chuck to where Vegas and Barstow stood, challenging the two agents to disagree. They did not.

"We don't know what we're facing," Chuck said. "It could be that we're overreacting and it's no big deal or it could be really dangerous. We don't know." He couldn't make his voice say the rest of what was on his mind. It was too terrible to even contemplate.

"Whatever it is, whatever happens, we'll be okay," Lizzie said, her blue eyes flashing. "We're Bartowskis. We'll do anything for family." Every kid stood straighter.

His eyes stung and the sudden tightness in his throat made it nearly impossible to swallow. Unable to speak, he nodded.

"Good," Lizzie said. Her voice had such command, her face was filled with such authority and determination that he felt like he was looking at and hearing his sister. With that Ellie-like voice, she said, "Now we can eat."

~ O ~

When Sarah realized she was waking up again, she took a deep breath, hoping the intake of air would clear the cobwebs from her brain. It did help to sharpen her mind, even though the air, stale and full of dust, made her choke. She blinked several times in an attempt to clear her blurred and double vision. After a moment, she was pleased to finally be able to focus them, even if she was staring at her lap. Finally growing lucid, she realized she was sitting upright in a chair. When she barely lifted her chin from her chest, the room tilted dangerously. She closed her eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass. After another deep breath of musty and stagnant air, she dared to open them again.

Before she examined her surroundings, she took stock of her personal wellbeing. Nothing hurt, other than the residual soreness in her arm where the tranq dart had penetrated. She fisted both hands and then stretched and wiggled her fingers. Her tongue, dry and thick, cleaved to the roof of her mouth. When she went to lift her hand and rub her nose—the dust in the air making it itch—she couldn't. One glance told her why. Both wrists were strapped to the armrests of the metal chair in which she sat with thick plastic cable ties. Straining at them to break free only caused the restraints to cut into her skin. Her attempts to move her feet informed her that each ankle was bound to a front leg of the chair. Whoever had restrained her had done a thorough job. She wasn't going anywhere.

Other than being bound—wrists and ankles to a chair—she seemed to be unhurt. So as not to cause the room to spin again, she slowly lifted her head to take in her environs. The room was dim as the only light came from one small rectangular window high in the wall to her right. The glass was smudged and dirty, making it impossible to see through. The only thing she could tell from the window was that it was still light outside. She knew it was sometime between four and nine pm, since sunset didn't come to Prague that time of year until nine-thirty. That was, of course, assuming they were still in Prague. Based on the way her body was feeling—hunger, thirst, bladder—she figured she hadn't been out for too many hours, so she would work under the theory she was still somewhere in the city, or at least its outskirts.

The room was plain and rectangular, probably ten feet by twenty. The walls were comprised of old, crumbling sandstone blocks covered with patches of white plaster. At one point, plaster had probably covered the blocks completely, but it had chipped and flaked away after years of neglect. A plain, wooden door stood at the end of one wall, closed and presumably locked. There was dirt on the floors, but she couldn't move her feet enough to kick it away to see whether it was a thin layer over a wood floor that had accumulated from years of abandonment or if it was simply a dirt floor. There were no decorations on the walls, and no furniture other than two identical metal chairs—the one that restrained her and the one that bound her partner, Major John Casey.

He was still unconscious, his head sagging to his chest just as hers had done a few minutes before. When she first saw him there—sitting eight feet to her left—she felt both relief and disappointment. For her own sake, it was a relief to have someone with her, a teammate to work with to get out of their current predicament. On the other hand, she wished he had escaped, knowing he would be actively searching for her.

The room spun and a wave of nausea crashed over her when she thought of those who awaited her and Casey's return. The pain and grief her absence was inflicting on her husband and family hurt her soul. Tears clung to her eyelashes when she whispered, "Chuck, I'm sorry." She'd never felt so alone.

She allowed herself a moment of misery, but then the pragmatic agent side of her took over. Coming to the conclusion that feeling sorry for herself wouldn't get her out of her present difficulty, she resolved to get back to her loved ones come hell or high water.

Her determination was tempered some, however, by the fact that there was little she could do at the moment. She couldn't move, Casey was still unconscious despite her whispered exhortations for him to wake up, and her captors where nowhere to be seen. At some point, she was going to either escape or be rescued. Until then, she had little choice but to wait for one or the other.

~ O ~

While Barstow stuffed a duffle bag full of gear and weapons, Chuck researched the area where Sarah's purple dot was located on the map. Bubny railway yard was Prague's oldest and largest, but had long ago been abandoned and the whole area was slated for a huge redevelopment project. It seemed to be the perfect area for someone looking for an out-of-the-way place to hide. A half-dozen huge, abandoned warehouses sat side-by-side on the northeast side of the yard. The phone app indicated the building in the middle of the row was their destination.

Itching to get moving, hugs goodbye were quick. Chuck promised he would let the kids know what was happening whenever he could. Once out the door and down the lift, Chuck and Barstow reached the sidewalk and the agent slung the duffle bag over his shoulder, setting off at a brisk pace toward the nearest Metro station. Chuck, striding next to Barstow, had learned a lot about public transportation during their European trip and knew he could have figured out how to get to Bubny. However, he was so preoccupied with Sarah's status, he was more than happy to let Barstow take the lead on transportation.

It was a short walk to the station and once on the subway, Chuck tried not to stare at the duffle bag full of weapons and tactical gear sitting on the seat next to Barstow. He tried to copy Barstow's demeanor and body language of a bored commuter, but was pretty sure he failed miserably. The perspiration that erupted on his forehead and trickled from his temples didn't convey "calm, cool and collected." After he mopped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he scanned the faces of the other passengers. While no one gave him a second glance, there was a part of him that was positive he and Barstow were going to be arrested the moment they stepped off the subway at the next stop and carted away to a Czech prison, never to be heard from again.

"We get off at Vltavská, the next stop," Barstow informed him. The agent shifted his weight, reached into his front pocket, took something from it and held it toward Chuck. "Gum? It's spearmint."

Chuck wanted to shout, "How can you think about gum at a time like this!" but instead stiffly shook his head and mumbled, "No, thanks."

Barstow shrugged, peeled the wrapper off a piece and stuck the gum in his mouth. After an announcement over the loudspeaker where Chuck managed to catch the word Vltavská, he and Barstow stood and exited the train when the doors of the car slid open. They navigated their way out of the station, Chuck pushing down rising nerves and trying to shake off his disorientation when they stepped out into the daylight. It felt strange to have arrived somewhere on a train and not have Sarah at his side. He knew he relied on her during their travels, but he never realized _how_ much. While he was sure Barstow was quite capable, there wasn't the unquestioned level of trust he felt with Sarah.

Standing near a low wall covered in graffiti, Chuck checked his phone. There were no messages or calls and the dot on the map had not moved. He sent a quick text to Lizzie and Morgan letting them know where they were and then took a closer look at the map. "It doesn't look like there's a way for us to get across the railroad tracks without being out in the wide open," he said.

Barstow hiked the bag up onto his shoulder and replied, "The narrowest point to cross is right down there." He hitched his thumb over his shoulder to point directly behind them. "Once we get across the tracks, there's a line of trees we can follow north until we reach the buildings. Trust me, sir. We'll be fine."

Heart pounding, Chuck swallowed hard and nodded. Barstow took off and, like a mountain goat, scrambled up a hill next to the Metro entrance. Chuck followed the agent up the dirt trail that took them above the station, but his movements felt stilted and his legs felt heavy, like someone had filled the soles of his chucks with lead. By sheer force of will, he managed to keep up. They followed the trail to the edge of a parking lot and then walked down a service road toward the tracks.

When they reached the place where they were to cross, Barstow stopped and looked both left and right. "They still use a couple of tracks on the west side of the yard. The east side is the abandoned section." Chuck gazed to the north and saw where the yard widened. The tracks branched out and some, especially on the east side, ran for a distance and then simply stopped. The rails had been pulled up.

They stepped across the four sets of tracks and hustled to the edge of the trees. While it wasn't hot outside, Chuck felt like he was perspiring from every pore. He wiped his palms on the front of his jeans to dry them, only to have them grow sweaty again.

They hurried along the eastern edge of the yard, being sure to stay in the protective shadows of the trees. When they had traveled about one hundred yards, they stopped a short distance from the targeted building. While the sun lowering in the western sky still gave off plenty of light, it was dim at the center of the clump of trees where they'd halted. Barstow dropped the duffle bag to the ground and knelt down next to it. On the other side, Chuck dropped to his knees as well, pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the GPS app. "Still no movement," he said in a low voice.

Barstow nodded, unzipped the bag and tugged the top open, exposing the contents. "Take this," he said, pulling out a bulletproof vest and handing it to Chuck. Every muscle in Chuck's body tightened as he looked at the protective gear in his hands.

"Like this," Barstow said. He pulled a second vest on and tightened the Velcro straps around his ribcage. Chuck copied him and felt a little better about being protected. The agent then loaded every pocket he had with some form of firearm and extra magazines of rounds.

Barstow took one of the pistols, checked the clip and then slammed it back into place. Holding it out to Chuck, he said, "This is a tranq gun and the darts are non-lethal. Are you okay with that or do you want one of my nine mils?"

Wiping his hands on his pants again, Chuck took the gun and shook his head. "No, I'm good with the tranq. Thanks." He didn't say it aloud, but he was thinking that if he was to accidently shoot someone, he'd rather do it in a non-dead-forever kind of way.

The duffle was now empty other than a couple of boxes of bullets and tranq darts that lay at the bottom. Barstow gave him a steely look when Chuck audibly gulped upon seeing the first aid kit. "You gonna be okay, sir?"

Chuck took a deep breath in through his nose and blew it out hard between his lips. They were so close and his wife needed him. The muscles in his jaw worked before he answered with conviction, "Yeah."

He felt Bartow's hard stare on him and returned it with one of his own. The agent gave one curt nod and growled, "Okay. I'll take the lead and you follow at my six. Think hand signals and _Call of Duty_. You _will not_ take lead at any time. I don't want Agent Walker planning my execution if she finds out you entered a room before I cleared it. You copy?"

"I copy," Chuck answered, his head bobbing. "Don't worry. I'm not a hero. I just want to get my wife back."

Barstow considered him and replied with a simple, "Good." With a mighty puff of air, he launched the gum from his mouth and sent it flying through the air. The wad bounced off a tree and fell to the ground. "Let's do this."

~ O ~

"Hey!" Sarah whispered as loudly as she could when she saw her partner beginning to stir. He flexed his fingers just as she had done and slowly lifted his head. He grunted and scowled when the cable ties that tied his wrists to the arms of the chair prevented him from lifting his hands. She watched him closely as he looked around the room and then at her.

"What the hell is this crap?" he growled, jerking in his chair, trying to break his ankles and wrists free of the bindings.

"I don't know what's going on. I've been awake for fifteen or twenty minutes and I haven't seen or heard anything or anyone," she said. "I assume this has to do with the bogus meeting. The last thing I remember is sitting at a table outside Caffrey's waiting for my contact. I felt a tranq dart in my arm, blacked out and then woke up here. Wherever here is."

He looked around the room. His words were thick with sarcasm when he said, "A real fixer-upper."

Completely ignoring his comment, she asked, "Are you hurt?"

He moved as many joints as he could and grimaced when he rotated his right shoulder. "Yeah, I'm okay. Got a headache and my shoulder hurts."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was sipping my pilsner and keeping an eye on the area, watching for any movement. I saw some big guy pick you up out of your chair. You'd keeled over, so I jumped up and started toward you. I'd just come out from under the awning when I felt something jab into my backside. Twice. I felt like a damn wildebeest. The lights went out and now here I am, cable tied to a chair in Shangri-La." He looked at the filtered light coming through the dirty window. "How long you think we've been here?"

"I don't know, couple of hours at least."

He checked the corners of the room. Dropping his voice, he said, "No cameras."

She nodded and replied in a near whisper. "The room might be bugged. Watch what you say."

He rolled his eyes. "Not my first abduction, Wa—"

Cutting him off, she warned, "Don't say—"

"Don't start with the name thing, too. I get enough of that from the girls."

"I'm not," she said, trying not to sound peevish. "We don't know who's listening or how much they know about us. I don't want them to know anything we don't want them to know."

He grunted his understanding and shook his head in irritation. "Sorry. Damn drugs must be still affecting me." A moment of silence passed. "Now what do we do?"

"While we wait for someone to find us, we figure out a way to escape."

"Great." They both stared at the wall. After a time, he asked, "You got any bright ideas?"

"No," she answered with a frustrated sigh. "You?"

"Nada."

Silence fell between them as they pondered. And waited.

~ O ~

Chuck darted out from the safety of the trees, across the railroad tracks overgrown with weeds and slammed his back flat against the painted black brick wall. Sweat trickled down his face and he swiped his hand across his brow before it dripped into his eyes. His shirt under the Kevlar vest was soaked and clammy. They had been moving along the tree line at a quick pace, so now that they'd stopped, he gulped in mouthfuls of air and tried to steady his racing heart.

In a glance, he realized "abandoned" wasn't a strong enough descriptor for the state of the buildings. He wished he had Bridget's vocabulary, but the word that popped into his mind was "decrepit." The windows were smashed and dirty and huge areas of plaster had fallen off the walls.

Both men slid their backs down the wall and settled into crouching positions, Barstow's pistol at the ready as his gaze swept the area. Chuck sat on his heels, his phone with the GPS app open in one hand and his tranq gun in the other.

"This is the building," Chuck whispered.

Barstow nodded and slowly moved his head to peer through one of the windows. "We can go through that door," he said, indicating with a tip of the head. "You stay here and don't move until you hear me say 'clear' or I come get you. You copy?"

"Copy." He locked the phone and stuck it in his back pocket. The app wouldn't help them pinpoint locations any closer than they were.

Barstow ghosted along the wall with Chuck following behind until the agent raised a fisted hand and came to an abrupt stop at the door. Reaching out, Barstow grabbed the knob, turned it and slowly pushed the door open. Chuck nodded when Barstow gave him a pointed glare. The agent gripped his pistol with both hands, held it up in front of him and then spun into the open doorway.

Chuck stayed frozen until Barstow came back to the doorway and waved him in. He held his weapon down at his thigh and followed the agent—whose weapon pointed in front of him—as they silently scanned the room and crept across the dirt-covered floor. While the large rectangular room they were in was dim, it was easy to see two more doors, one each at opposite ends of the room.

Barstow, with Chuck at his six, stole toward the door to their right. When they reached it, they pressed their backs against the wall and listened. When there was no sound, Barstow entered the same way he had entered the building. Chuck closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall and waited to hear Sarah's voice. He didn't. Opening them, he watched Barstow move past him and fell in step as they headed for the second door.

~ O ~

Sarah and Casey had been silent for some time, each letting their thoughts wander as the minutes ticked by. Wondering if their captors were close by—they still hadn't seen or heard them—she listened for any sounds that might indicate their presence. Her head snapped in the direction of the door when she thought she heard something. Straining, she closed her eyes to concentrate on the sound. Had she heard something, or was she just imagining it?

~ O ~

How Barstow was able to cross the dirt-covered floor without the soles of his shoes making any sound, Chuck didn't know. He wasn't nearly as light of foot. The grit crunching under his chucks sounded incredibly loud no matter what he did to mitigate the noise. Fortunately, they didn't have far to go and Barstow didn't seem to care. Once they moved into position, Barstow counted down on his fingers. When he reached "one" he turned the knob, opened the door and dashed into the room. Chuck's stomach dropped when Barstow spoke in a normal tone. Barstow's voice was the only one he heard. "Clear."

Chuck already felt a huge sense of disappointment when he entered the room. It was empty, other than an old, rickety looking wooden table in the center of it. Barstow—his back to Chuck—stood stock still in front of it with his head bowed. As he approached, Chuck saw a number of items lined up across the top of the table. When he saw what they were, he felt like the floor was about to give way and swallow him. Leaning forward, he gripped the edge of the table when the room spun. Squeezing his eyes closed, he clenched his jaw and breathed deeply, desperately trying to regain his equilibrium.

When he pried them open again, he stared down at the belongings on the table. Icy fingers gripped his heart and tried to rip it from his chest. There, in a neat line, were Sarah's possessions: iPhone, watch, Smith & Wesson, and ankle holster, each knife still in its slot. Casey's phone and weapons were lined up as well. "They knew we would track her phone." Bile churned and threatened to force itself out. Swallowing it down, he whispered, "Sarah's unarmed. And we have no idea where she is."

~ O ~

Whatever Sarah heard, or at least thought she heard, had fallen silent. The light from the high window was fading as dusk arrived and the room grew dimmer. Unless someone came and turned on the bare light bulb hanging from a single wire from the ceiling, she and Casey would be sitting in complete darkness in about an hour. At least the bells she heard not too terribly far away informed her when another hour had passed. In the States, knowing she was being held near bells might have helped her determine where she was. In Prague, a city where bells chimed everywhere, it was really no help to her at all.

Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton and the dust in the air made her throat dry. A sip of cold water would have been welcome, but she was pretty sure it wouldn't be forthcoming anytime soon. Isolation, hunger and thirst, discomfort, fear, pain. These were some of the techniques used to soften up a subject before interrogation. That would certainly explain why they hadn't yet seen their captors. They were leaving them alone, letting fear and anxiety take hold before they were questioned, assuming that was their captor's intent. She was trained to withstand "enhanced interrogation techniques" and had done so in the past. However, there was one element she was consciously fighting. The longer she sat there and the longer she was away from her family, the more they would worry about her. The separation was no longer just about her. During other times of forced confinement, she had no one waiting for her to come home, no one wondering where she was. No attachments had made her an agent with nothing to lose. All that changed when she met Chuck and the kids. Her life was different now, infinitely better and fuller, but there were more risks, more vulnerabilities to be exploited. If her captors knew about her husband and family, they could try to use them against her. She resolved that no matter what, she wouldn't mention a word about them.

That wouldn't stop her from thinking about them, though. Memories of times like the night before when they had done nothing more than make dinner as a family were what would motivate her to get out of her current quandary and return to them no matter what.

~ O ~

Chuck's shoulders sagged when he and Barstow returned to the apartment. As they walked through the door—just the two of them—the looks on the kids' faces morphed from excitement and expectancy to confusion and dismay.

Lizzie jumped from her seat. "Where's Aunt Sarah?" She looked past Chuck, her gaze searching behind her uncle, waiting for her aunt to follow through the door behind him. Her eyes widened when Barstow entered and closed the door behind him. There was no one else. "I don't understand. Your text said you were on your way back. I thought that meant Aunt Sarah and Uncle Casey were with you."

Chuck worked hard to keep his voice even. "I wanted to be here with you when I told you that she wasn't where we thought she was. Her phone was there, but she wasn't."

"Oh, dude! I'm so sorry," Morgan said, sitting at the edge of his seat on the couch.

Lizzie paled and clutched a hand to her stomach. "Where is she? How do we find her?"

Gazing in turn into their grim faces, it took every ounce of strength Chuck had left to put on a brave face when he felt nothing but turmoil inside. "I don't know."

"You'll figure something out," Fred said with resolve. "You always do."

His siblings made noises of agreement and encouragement.

"We'll help however we can," Lisa said. "She'll come back to us." Her blue eyes blazed with conviction. "She has to." That triggered vigorous head nodding.

Chuck gritted his teeth and consciously pushed aside the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. There was no time to feel sorry for himself. His kids needed Sarah as much as he did and he was going to find her, for himself and for them. His spine straightened, throwing off the hunch of defeat he'd worn only a moment before. "You're right. She has to." He looked to Barstow and Vegas. "I assume you've informed Director Graham of Sarah and Casey's disappearance."

Vegas looked at to Chuck. "I have."

"And?" Chuck asked.

"There are certain protocols that are to be followed when protected assets such as yourself and your family are threatened, especially when it's an unknown threat," Vegas stated.

"These protocols. What are they, exactly?"

"We would need to take you into protective custody."

Chuck scowled. "I though we already are?"

"No, sir," Barstow said. "We'd have to take you and the kids to the U.S. embassy and then put you on the first secure flight back to the States."

Chuck crossed his arms. "I won't go back. Not without Sarah."

"I assumed that would be the response," Vegas stated, "and informed Director Graham of that. At first, he didn't care and told me to bring you in regardless of the fact that you wouldn't come willingly. However, as we spoke further, I pointed out to the director that this is a stable region and that we're the only agents in this area. I also told him we needed your computer and analytical expertise to help locate Agent Walker and Major Casey."

Narrowing his eyes at the agent, Chuck asked, "Then how come you don't take us into protective custody at the embassy and we work from there?"

Vegas shifted uncomfortably. "I assume you can, ah, access certain 'secure' video feeds and databases using your computer?"

Chuck nodded slowly.

"Embassy personnel wouldn't be too enthusiastic about you bending a friendly country's privacy laws. We don't want to put you in a position where your location would hamper your abilities to assist us in the investigation."

"And Graham agreed to this?" Chuck asked.

"Yes, after I suggested preventing you from fully helping with the search might cause you to rethink your contract with the Agency. I hope I was correct in putting forward that suggestion, sir?" Chuck nodded energetically as Vegas continued. "He agreed that you would assist in finding Agent Walker and Major Casey with the understanding I would be in charge."

Relief flooded through Chuck. "Okay." He glanced over at the kids. "Maybe we should have the kids go stay at the embassy."

This time, it was Curtis who crossed his arms. "I won't go." Six other sets of arms crossed in solidarity.

"Besides, you can't just leave us there without telling them why," Lizzie said.

"Good point. We all stay," Chuck said. To Vegas and Barstow, he said, "Let's get started."

~ O ~

"There're two hundred and fifty-eight bricks from ceiling to floor between the corner and the edge of the window," Casey stated.

"Thanks, that's good to know." Silence fell. "I know at least one curse word in twenty-eight different languages. It was twenty-seven, but then I learned one in Luxembourgish when we were in Amsterdam."

"Impressive." More silence. "Hindi?"

"Yup."

"Afrikaans?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Tagalog?"

"Oo."

"Oh, oh what?" There was a hint of alarm in his voice.

"That's 'yes' in Tagalog."

He grunted. The minutes slipped by. "I know twelve."

"Nice." After a minute, she blurted, "Oh! Twenty-nine. Klingon."

Snorting, he grunted, "God, they've turned you into such a giant nerd."

She softly smiled in the weak light. "I know."

~ O ~

Emotions swirled in his middle as Chuck stared down at Sarah's phone in his hand. He felt an odd mixture of comfort and longing. It felt good to have something of hers, but it also reminded him of how much he missed her. Vegas, Barstow and he had decided that they should start their search for Sarah and Casey at the beginning and see if any new information turned up that would help them find the missing agents. So there he stood with her phone in his hand, ready to call Harry Chalmers. Since Chuck had had several conversations with Sarah about Harry, he had more information about the man than either of the other two agents and was therefore the one elected to make the call.

His thumb hovered over the screen, ready to type in her pass code. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a tiny smile when he thought of the day he'd learned it. He stared at the phone's screen, but didn't see it. In his mind's eye, he only saw that day…

"Really, Chuck?" Sarah asked, her eyebrow arching dangerously. "You think holding my phone over your head will work?"

"You can't reach it," he stated. "Especially without your heels." His eyes danced with glee when he thought he had bested her.

She heaved a good-natured sigh and gently poked him in the abdomen with a finger causing him to bend at the waist. Then she held his wrist with one hand while she plucked the phone from his hand with the other. It was all over in a split second.

"It works with the kids," he mumbled. His mock hurt look didn't fool her as she simply grinned back at him and slid the phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

Unwilling to give up, he grabbed her by the waist, pulled her to him and kissed her. His distraction worked and he lifted the phone from her pocket. However, the fact that there was not a hint of surprise on her face when he released her and showed her that he had her phone again told him she'd allowed him to take it.

"What's your pass code?" he asked.

"Why should I tell you?" she replied, a hand resting on her hip.

He bounced an eyebrow. "Because I'm your husband, that's why."

She rolled her eyes in response. "I'm a spy. What if I can't tell you because I have classified information on that phone?"

"Uh-huh. Like the pictures you took of the Christmas tree the other day. We both know you can't have anything classified on this." He smiled and waved the phone at her.

She crossed her arm and smirked. "Okay, Mr. CIA Cryptographer. You should be able to figure out a four-digit pass code without even breaking a sweat. Go for it. I'll even give you a hint. It's not a random number and it's something you would know. But you have to get it right before all your wrong answers causes the phone to erase itself."

"Challenge accepted," he said. His voice was serious but his eyes twinkled. "The year you were born." He typed in the number. It didn't work. "The month and day of your birthday." That didn't work either. He tried their house number, their wedding anniversary and his birthday, both day and year. None of them worked. "Am I going to waste my tries with the kids' birthdays?"

"Yes."

He gave her an appraising look. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The smirk turned into a real smile. "Yes. Very."

He racked his brain and then suddenly snapped his fingers. "The year you started at the CIA." It failed. He handed the phone back to her with a bow. "You win. I am defeated," he sighed dramatically.

She took the phone and stood with her back to him so he could see it over her shoulder. He watched as she typed in the number and unlocked the phone. "Something more important. The day you told me you loved me," she said shyly, answering his unspoken question…

The breath that caught in his throat pulled him from his daydream. The memory made his heart pound now just as it had then. He loved her more every day. It was time to find her.

He bounced his shoulders to shake out the tension, moved his head from side to side and took a deep breath. Sarah made all this spy stuff look like it was the easiest thing to do in the world, and always looked like a million bucks doing it. He didn't think it was possible, but his respect for her grew. Waking the phone, he smiled at his favorite picture of the two of them on her home screen and typed in the pass code. He found Harry's name in her contacts and touched the screen to place the call.

After one ring, a man with a British accent said in a jovial tone, "Good evening, Agent Walker! I assume you're calling me to thank me for hooking you up with the contact regarding Frost and Orion."

"I'm sorry, Agent Chalmers, but things didn't quite work out the way they were supposed to," Chuck said.

"Who is this?" Harry demanded. The lightness in his tone disappeared and turned sharp and brusque.

"My name is Charles Carmichael. I'm an associate of Agent Walker's," he said as smoothly as he could. Barstow and Vegas had prepped him to use the alias Sarah had given him in Paris. "She and Major Casey went to meet the contact but haven't been heard from since. We recovered their phones, but we don't know where either of them are. I'm hoping you can shed some light on what might have happened."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Sarah's a good friend of mine. I'll help in any way I can." There was a short hesitation on the other end of the line. "However, I won't answer any of your questions or give you any information until I know you truly are an associate of Agent Walker's."

"Of course." Chuck sounded much more confident than he felt. "Ask."

"Are you a member of the team for the mission she's currently on?"

"Yes." He reminded himself not to give any information beyond what was asked.

"Were you in London with her recently?"

"Yes."

"I'd like you to tell me where Agent Walker apprehended the man she was pursuing."

"I can do better than that. I can tell you she tied him up with his own shoelaces in the Piccadilly tube station."

Harry chuckled. "Yes, that was rather inspired of her." Sobering, he asked, "How can I help you?"

"I'd like to know how the contact you sent her way came up on your radar," Chuck said.

"When Sarah and I met at the pub in London, she inquired about Benoit, asking if I had any intel on his whereabouts. I told her I didn't, but would ask around. She asked the same about two former agents who went missing a number of years ago."

The names nearly stuck in his throat. "Frost and Orion."

"Yes. I agreed to send out inquiries, to network as it were. I have a number of associates throughout Europe. Some are legitimate members of the intelligence community. Some are, ah, 'independent information contractors.'"

"One of these contractors," Chuck said, "got the phone number Sarah called to set up the meeting?"

"That's right."

"Do you think your contact was in on setting up Sarah's abduction?"

"No," Harry answered immediately. "I've known Zephyr for many years. He's made a lot of money off of me. There's no reason for him to do something like this, something that would jeopardize our business relationship. If I told my peers in the intelligence community that Zephyr was a party to something like this, no one would trust him again. He would be cut off and his income would dry up."

"What if Benoit set this up?" Chuck asked. "He's got plenty of money. Is there a possibility that he set this up and paid Zephyr enough money to get him to do it?"

"There's no reason for Zephyr to be involved in the kidnapping—he never gets his hands dirty. Zephyr was simply the broker. Once the he gave the information to me and I passed it on to Agent Walker, both he and I were out of the loop."

"I want to talk to him," Chuck demanded. "I want to talk to Zephyr."

"I can give you his number, but I can tell you what he told me when he gave me the contact's information. He had one of his Moscow-based friends asking around about Frost and Orion on his behalf. Think of it as a subcontractor looking to earn a finder's fee. The phone number was given to Zephyr's contact who gave it to me and I gave it to Sarah. I truly don't know how many layers it goes back." Harry sighed and said, "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"We're following every lead we can. I might as well get Zephyr's number from you in case we decide to contact him."

"Of course," the agent responded and recited the number.

After jotting it down, Chuck thanked him and was about to end the call when it seemed there was nothing else to discuss. His head snapped up in surprise when Harry asked, "Does the man she's in love with know of her disappearance?"

"Yes, he's been informed and is understandably upset and concerned," he answered, feeling a strange sense of detachment. It was like he was talking about someone else. "She told you about him?"

"Yes, but only after I figured it out first. When we met in London, I could tell she'd changed. She was more open and… playful, I guess is the best word I can come up with. It didn't take much skill to realize why. But she was very cagey and gave me next to no information about him, citing that she wanted to protect him."

A tiny smile curled on Chuck's lips. "Yes, she is very protective of him."

"One day, after Agent Walker and Major Casey are safe and sound, you and I will have to get together and commiserate. The man who holds Sarah's heart is a very lucky fellow."

Chuck tried to keep the emotions crashing in on him from of his voice when he answered, "Yeah, he is. He's the luckiest guy in the world."

~ O ~

Sarah gazed at the window, watching as the last vestiges of light filtered through the dirty glass. She started when a blurry shape moved past the window.

"Did you see that?" she asked.

"What? I can barely see anything."

"Up in the window. Something moved past it."

She saw his head turn toward the window. After a few more minutes of watching and waiting, the long shape moved across the window again. Then almost immediately, first one and then a second shadow went past at a quicker pace.

"It looks like some kind of animal," he said. "Maybe a polecat."

"In the window way up there?"

Casey grunted. "That means were in—"

"—a basement."

She released a groan when he said, "Settle in. We could be here a while."

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: This is the last update to this story until January. The reasons are twofold. One, the holidays are fast approaching. It's a busy time of year and I won't have the time to get any more chapters ready to post. Which brings us to reason number two. I am burnt and in desperate need of a break. I've posted a new chapter nearly every Thursday since March and the pace of writing eight to ten thousand words a week has turned my brain to mush. Please know that I am committed to this story and will see it through to its [beta edit: exciting, dramatic, sensational and electrifying] conclusion – there's still lots of adventures to come and surprises to reveal. I hope you'll come back when it returns after the first of the year.


	32. In the Still of the Night

**A/N the first: **First off, thank you for coming back to read this story after its hiatus. Also, thank you for the kind words sending me off on my break as well as all the holiday wishes. Now I'm back and ready to continue the story.

While I was on my break, I didn't completely stop writing. In case you missed them, I wrote a couple of one-shot Christmas stories. _Chuck vs. the Sound of Music: Christmas Can't Be Very Far Away_ tells the story of Sarah's first Christmas with the family and can be found on this site. The other is a short story between Scott Barstow and Carina Miller called _A Carott Christmas_. It's posted over at my blog.

Thank you to **AgentInWaiting** for his beta work on this chapter (and always). You have no idea how often his story prompts help me write scenes that enrich each chapter.

When we last left our story, Sarah and Casey were being held prisoner in a basement…

**Chapter 32 – In the Still of the Night**

The apartment was dark, other than the small lamp on Chuck's side of the bed illumining the room with weak, yellow light. With back against his pillow, he sat with his legs stretched out under the covers and his laptop balanced on top. He closed his eyes, dropped his head back against the wooden headboard with a soft _thunk_ and rubbed his hands over his face in fatigue, frustration and worry. Sarah and Casey hadn't been heard from in nine hours. To Chuck, it felt like nine days.

Eyes still closed, he pressed the tips of his fingers against his temples and rubbed them in small circles. The one bright spot in an otherwise gloomy situation was the way the kids had pitched in to help out him and each other. He had been so focused on scrutinizing the security camera footage he had "acquired" of the area outside Caffrey's, he was surprised when Martie and Megan, bathed and in their pajamas, came to him to receive their goodnight kisses. He had received kind, understanding smiles from Lizzie and Lisa when he gave them a grateful, "Thank you." Earlier, Fred had gently reminded Chuck to give Bridget her antibiotic and he nearly broke down in tears when he saw Curtis—his sports-loving boy who rarely picked up a book other than for school—reading _Artemis Fowl_ aloud to his little sisters.

He drew in a deep breath, blew it out slowly and opened his eyes. On the screen was an image of the Old Town Square from the security feed. He had already watched it a dozen times. Vegas and Barstow had watched it numerous times as well. Since the phone number Sarah had called to set up the meet was no longer in service, the recording of Caffrey's exterior was the only evidence of what had happened to her and Casey. There had to be something there—a clue he'd missed the first dozen times through—that would give him some idea where Sarah and Casey had gone.

He dropped his hands to the keyboard, stared at the screen and watched the video. Again. According to the timestamp, Casey arrived at the George and Dragon, the British pub next to Caffrey's, ten minutes to four. He entered the pub, and after a couple of minutes, walked back outside with a glass of beer in his hand and disappeared under the awning. From the elevated angle of the camera—it was placed next to a small statue at the top of the building across from the pub—Chuck couldn't see exactly where Casey had positioned himself, but it wasn't really important. Five minutes later, Sarah strode into view on the screen in her jeans, light jacket and boots. His breath caught in his throat each time he saw her appear. Poised and confident, she went into the pub and reappeared moments later carrying a bottle and glass. She headed straight for a table at the back corner of the patio, sat down and poured her cider into the glass. When she leaned back in her chair, she looked for all intents and purposes as a woman who was doing nothing more than relaxing and enjoying a beautiful early summer afternoon.

Whether or not she said anything to Casey through their comms, Chuck couldn't tell, but he did see her casually glance around the area. _He_ knew what she was doing, but to anyone else who looked her way, she was simply taking in the atmosphere. It amazed him how she could appear to be so indifferent to her surroundings, when he knew that it was, in fact, the very opposite.

The next part was torture for him to watch, but he knew he had to get through it. Sarah jerked, and her right hand reached across to grab her left arm. A large, burly man dressed in the pub's wear of black pants and a black shirt stepped out of a recessed doorway and moved to her table just as her eyes fluttered closed. Chuck stopped the video and zoomed in on her arm. He studied the tranquilizer dart stuck there, but the close up was too grainy to gain any information about its origins. Zooming out again, he clenched his jaw as he watched the man lift her up and out her of her chair and "help" her through the doorway from where he had come.

He scrolled the recording back to just before Sarah was tranqed and concentrated his attention on the awning. Seconds after the beefy man picked Sarah up from her chair, Casey burst out from under the canopy and went toward her. He had almost reached the short orange, green and white wooden railing that demarcated Caffrey's patio when he stumbled, dropped to his knees and collapsed on his right side. Several people jumped up from their tables to go to him, but the brawny man who had removed Sarah from the area and an equally large and muscular mate pushed through the crowd and knelt down next to him. By the way the two men had their hands up and waved them at the people clustered around, Chuck could tell they were trying to both alleviate their concern and send them back to their tables. He could practically hear them telling the patrons that Casey had simply had too much to drink and that they would take care of him. Despite the major's large frame, the men slung Casey's limp arms around their necks and stood him up. His head hung and his feet dragged behind him as they lugged him toward the same door Sarah had been taken through a moment before. Other than the group of pub goers glancing around at each other with stunned and confused expressions, that was the end the incident. Sarah and Casey weren't seen again.

Based on the events captured on the recording, Vegas had gone to the pub gain more information. He had returned and reported that while the bartender remembered Sarah from earlier in the day, he didn't know where she and Casey had been taken after they were brought inside the bar. The bartender told Vegas that he had never seen the three men—a third man with a large briefcase had joined the other two—before, and made it clear to Vegas that he unwilling to share any more information. When Vegas informed him that the two unconscious people he had seen earlier were now missing and the next step was to involve the police, the bartender relented. The pub's manager, an American named Neal, ordered him and the other employees to not ask any questions about the episode and that he had everything under control. The bartender also told him that Sarah and Casey were taken through the pub to a back door that led to a large private courtyard. Vegas had checked it out and saw that from there, Sarah and Casey could have been loaded in a van or car and driven anywhere. Since it wasn't a public area, there was no security feeds for Chuck to hack into.

When Vegas asked to talk to the manager, he was informed that no one had seen Neal since soon after Sarah and Casey had been taken. Vegas' search of the manager's office turned up nothing helpful. Chuck's background check on the manager also turned up nothing—strangely, it was as if the man had not even existed until he arrived in Prague—so it was unknown if the manager was in on the abduction or simply paid to look the other way. Either way, it seemed likely that this Neal character, whoever he really was, would never show up at Caffrey's again. Finally, Vegas had reported that there was only one camera inside the pub, but wouldn't be helpful since it was trained on the cash register.

Chuck stared at the screen, turning over the information from the video feed and what they had learned from Vegas' trip to Caffrey's in his mind. What did they know? Not much. Sarah and Casey had been tranqed, taken into the pub and disappeared from there. There were at least three men in on the plot and he had taken screencap shots of the faces of the two men who had moved Sarah and Casey into the pub. With a keystroke, he switched the laptop screen over to the window running a facial recognition program through the Interpol database. Without really seeing, he stared at the progress bar that slowly crawled across the screen.

Sudden exhaustion overwhelmed him. Even as his brain felt like it had turned to mush and his entire body screamed for him to sleep, it somehow seemed wrong. How could he sleep when his wife—the woman he loved and by some miracle loved him back—was missing? He needed to find her and sleeping would only delay it.

He heard her voice in his head as clearly as if she were sitting there right next to him. _Chuck, go to sleep. I need you to have a clear mind to find me. You being sleep deprived won't do the kids, Casey or me any good._

Aural delusion or not, it settled him to hear her voice. He also knew she was right. He would be no good to anyone in the morning if he didn't get some sleep. Heaving a sigh, he set the laptop—alert volume adjusted to maximum and still running the facial recognition program—on the nightstand, turned off the lamp and scooted down in the bed. Lying flat on his back, he stared up at the gray hues flickering on the ceiling, thrown there by the light emitted from the computer screen. At first, he was sure that he wouldn't be able to sleep with his mind as burdened as it was. He was, however, surprised when he found himself blinking rapidly as his eyelids grew heavy. Finding it impossible to keep them open, he allowed them to droop closed and drifted off to sleep.

~ O ~

The twilight had turned to night and the room had gone from dim to dark. Sarah and Casey sat together in its inky blackness since the single bare light bulb that hung from the ceiling had not been turned on. No one had descended into the basement where they were being held, nor had they heard any sound of movement above them. The chiming bells informed Sarah it was four o'clock in the morning. To her left, she could just make out Casey's silhouette. Proving that he could sleep anywhere at any time, his head was tipped forward and his chin rested on his chest. She heard him softly snoring.

Crushing fatigue had managed to overwhelm the stiffness and discomfort she felt due to the immovable position she was in and she, too, had dozed. Her respite was fleeting, however, when nightmares pushed into her mind and awakened her. Recognizing that the dark and isolation were starting to affect her, she knew she couldn't let the thoughts of never seeing Chuck or the kids again break her. She fought against that fear with every ounce of mental strength she had available. She called up images from the last year in her mind's eye: the first time she met Chuck and the kids, her and Chuck's first kiss after their incredible tango in the backyard, the proposal at the gazebo, the wedding, Chuck standing in their hotel room at Disney World wearing only his boxers, her first real Christmas, slow dancing at the Eiffel Tower, Mother's Day when all the kids made breakfast for her and piled on their bed.

Even now, she could almost feel Chuck squeeze her hand the way he had toward the end of _The Magic Flute, _the opera they had enjoyed in Berlin just three days before_._ Papageno's beloved, Papagena, had entered their final scene together on a large sleigh bed. After Papageno joined her and the two sang of how they looked forward to having a bunch of children some day, they were joined on the bed by eight kids who immediately started whacking each other with pillows. Smiling, Chuck had tipped his head toward hers and whispered, "Look familiar?" Later, in the car on the way back to the hotel after the opera, his eyes had widened and a grin split his face when she translated the lyrics of Papageno and Papagena's duet. They were particularly significant in light of the conversation they'd had at the restaurant.

Now she was sitting in the dark, cable tied to a chair and held prisoner in a basement by unknown captors. And yet the gloom that had lurked in her heart and mind was being kept at bay by the music that filled her. Quietly, tentatively, she allowed the words and music to spill out. "_Welche Freude wird das sein_," she sang in a hesitant whisper. "_Wenn die Götter uns bedenken_." She stopped and listened. Hearing nothing, she continued softly, "_Unsrer Liebe Kinder schenken, so liebe kleine Kinderlein_."

"Are you _singing_?" Casey growled, now awake. As he lifted his head, she couldn't see the scowl on his face, but she knew it was there. "Why are you singing about how wonderful it would be if the gods remembered you and gave you little children of your love…" After a pause where he worked out the significance of what she sang, he sat up straighter and grumbled, "Ugh. I swear, I _ever_ hear one peep about what you and the nerd—"

"You won't," she said, cutting him off. She felt her cheeks flame and was surprised they didn't glow in the dark. "Keep it to yourself, would you?"

The noise of minor disgust he made assured her that the last thing in the world he would ever want to talk about was her and Chuck trying to have a baby.

"And for the record, I thought you were asleep. Sorry I woke you."

He huffed out a breath. "Eh, I was starting to get a crick in my neck and my ass is numb." She heard him shift in his chair. "What's with the singing, anyway?"

Even though he couldn't see her, she shrugged. "Trying to keep the bogeyman away."

"Huh?"

She took a moment and thought through her reply. "Things are different now than the last time something like this happened to me," she answered carefully.

"Oh. Yeah. Got it." She could tell he was trying to sound optimistic when he started, "We'll figure something—" His words were cut off by the sound of approaching voices. Every muscle tensed when she heard a key rattle in the basement door lock. When the doorknob turned and the door swung open, everything she had been thinking about was pushed away as she slipped into full agent mode.

Now flooded with adrenaline, her whole body buzzed when she heard Casey mutter, "Showtime."

~ O ~

The terror that spilled from his dream ripped Chuck from sleep. He shot up in bed, his heart racing and his breath coming in short, gasping gulps of air. Disoriented, he kicked off the bed covers and dropped his head into shaking hands. Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he waited for the jackhammering in his chest to subside. Even as the acute panic began to slowly abate, it was replaced by the crushing realization that his reality was his waking nightmare. Disconsolately, he stared at the empty half of the bed, fear and worry over Sarah's safety nearly undoing him. And selfishly, he missed her. He missed her with such a profound longing, his arms literally ached to hold her.

Scooting to her side of the bed, he lay back down and buried his face in her pillow. He breathed deeply, drawing in the fragrance of her fruit-scented shampoo that still lingered there. When he rolled onto his back and pulled the sheet up to his chin, the aroma of the warm vanilla lotion she put on every night before bed enveloped him. Taking in her scent, he was reminded of something she had said before they were married. One night, when she had gotten up to leave his bed to return to her own, she'd put on one of his shirts. "When I go back to my own cold, lonely bed, I'll have your scent to comfort me," she'd said. In the darkness, his smile at her words was fleeting. While her aroma was a small comfort to him, the fact that she was gone and he didn't know where she was crushed him.

Where the thought came from, he didn't know, but he was suddenly reminded of Papageno at the end of _The Magic Flute_. All the bird catcher wanted in life was to find his love, his Papagena. When all hope that he would ever find her was lost, Papageno tossed a noose over a branch of a tree. While Chuck didn't understand German, he caught the gist of what was going on and knew that Papageno was basically singing, "Goodbye cruel world." Just as the bird catcher was about end it all, three young boys—Chuck had never quite understood who they were, although they popped up throughout the opera at random times and always seemed to save the day—reminded Papageno to play the magic bells he'd been given to draw Papagena to him. Papageno had turned the crank and played the bells. It worked and Papagena made quite an entrance, lying rather seductively on a large bed. The two lovers then launched into an exuberant duet and a load of kids jumped on the bed at the end. While Chuck would never even consider using a noose, he did wish he had a magic music box like Papageno's where all he had to do was turn the crank, play some bells and Sarah would appear. He also realized that in the bird catcher's darkest hour, the three boys showed up, helped him and things turned for the better. While he didn't expect three boys to burst into his room and blast operatic German at him—it would both scare the living daylights out of him and he wouldn't know what they were trying to say to him anyway—he wished someone could help him. He hoped the moment he was in was the darkness before the coming light.

Tossing and turning, he flopped around on the bed like a fish at the bottom of a boat. It had become impossible for him to turn off his brain and go back to sleep. Finally giving up, he sat up and checked on the facial recognition program running on his computer. No matches had been found yet, and so he let it continue. He swung his legs off the bed, stood and dragged himself toward the door. After a trip to the bathroom, he would come back and watch the security feed from outside Caffrey's again. Maybe he would find his magic music box.

He padded through the living room where Lizzie slept on the couch and into a short hallway. The door on the right was the bathroom and the one straight ahead led to Lisa and Bridget's room. Directly across from the bathroom was Martie and Megan's room, their door closed only half way. He was about to turn to his right and go into the bathroom when he stopped and stood stock-still. Thinking he'd heard something, he cocked his head and listened. A muffled, snuffling sound came from the bedroom to his left. Tiptoeing into the room, he peeked at the two heads sticking out from under the covers. Martie appeared to be asleep, so he turned his attention toward his youngest and knelt down on her side of the bed. She sniffed, balled her hand into a fist and rubbed her eye. When she pulled her hand away, Chuck could see the wetness that stained her cheek, even in the dark. Sudden tears welled in his eyes and dampened his lashes. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to comfort her, but the ache in his throat wouldn't allow any sound to escape. Struggling to keep himself together, all he could do was wipe the tears from her cheek with his thumb. When the halting breath she took was punctuated with a hiccup, he pulled back her blanket and lifted her off the bed. One arm hugged Spy Barbie close while the other curled around his neck. Her cheek rested on his shoulder as she clung to him as he carried her back to his room. He maneuvered himself back onto the bed—Megan's grip remaining firmly around his neck—until he sat back against the pillows. Once settled on his lap, she curled up and rested her head on his chest.

They sat in the stillness for a long time and might have been mistaken for a sculpture if not for the rhythmic rise and fall of Chuck's chest and the hand that slowly rubbed Megan's back. The silence was only broken by her occasional sniffles.

When he thought she had fallen back asleep, he considered taking her back to her room. He couldn't bring himself to do it when he realized how much her presence was like a balm to his frazzled nerves. It was a little less painful to be sad together rather than alone.

"When Spy Barbie was lost, I was really, really sad," Megan said, her voice small and barely above a whisper. She fingered the doll in her hand. "I would trade Spy Barbie and all my dolls away forever if it would bring Aunt Sarah back." Turning her face toward his chest, she rubbed her nose on his t-shirt.

Tears burned his eyes again. "I know, pumpkin. I wish it was that easy."

"I wish Aunt Sarah had a tracker on her like the ones Uncle Casey put on my dolls."

Chuck's brow furrowed. That was news to him. "Uncle Casey put tracking devices on your Barbies? When did he do that?"

"In Berlin, right after Agent Barstow brought her back. He said that Barbie, Joe and Dani were important assets that we didn't want to lose again, so he stuck trackers on them so we could find them no matter what. They came from his special spy bag. They're really small and easy to lose. I had one and—" She slapped a hand over her mouth and Chuck felt her whole body tense.

He'd seen her do that mouth slap before and immediately knew that she had almost told him something she'd done that she didn't want him to find out about. "Megan, what did you do?" His tone was firm, but not harsh.

She sat up, her hand still over her mouth and eyes wide. Looking into his face, she slowly shook her head.

"Megan, tell me what you did."

"Promise you won't get mad?" came a muffled question from behind the hand.

"I promise I won't get mad." He hooked a finger around her small wrist and pulled her hand away from her face. "I can't promise you might not be punished if you did something wrong. But I won't know until you tell me." He reached over and turned on the lamp, illuminating the crestfallen face of the six-year-old. "You said they were easy to lose. Did one fall off of one of your dolls?"

Her head wagged slowly from side to side.

He didn't want to play twenty questions, but Parenting 101 told him he'd come to a point where he had to follow through. "Then how do you know they're easy to lose?" He gave her a look that told her she had to answer this time.

She stared down at Spy Barbie and rolled the fake blonde hair between her fingers. Without looking up, she whispered, "I took one from Uncle Casey's bag."

He frowned. "Did you have his permission to go into his bag?"

"Yes."

"You did?" he asked, surprise filling his voice.

"Martie and I went with him to his room to find cards for Bathroom Poker. We played it when you and Aunt Sarah went to the opera. He told me to look through the spy bag for the pack of cards." She lifted her head and looked at him. "It was mostly just wires and gadgets and stuff. There weren't any guns or anything like that, I promise. I know I'm not supposed to touch any guns and Uncle Casey always keeps them locked up anyway." He knew she was telling the truth. He'd always been able to tell by just looking into her clear, blue eyes and he knew there was no way Casey would let her poke around in a bag that contained anything dangerous. "I didn't find the cards, but I saw the box that had the tracker thingies. I knew he would say no if I asked, and I really wanted to use it with my Barbies, so I took one." She swallowed hard and her lower lip began to tremble.

He heaved a sigh. "Megan, I'm so disappointed you did that. You should never take something that doesn't belong to you. If you really wanted to play with it, you should have asked him. If he'd said no, it would have been for a good reason."

In an effort to defend herself, she said, "I wasn't gonna keep it. I was gonna put it back when I was done playing with it." She dropped her gaze back to Barbie. "But then I lost it."

"_You_ get to tell Uncle Casey that part."

Her eyes widened. "He'll be mad."

Chuck hoped he would get to see Casey get mad at Megan. That would mean he and Sarah would be back with them and safe. "Maybe he won't be quite as mad if we find it. Did you play with it here in Prague? Maybe it's in the apartment."

"Uh-uh," she answered, her shoulders slumping. "I looked and I haven't seen it since I was playing with it when me and Martie stayed with Aunt Sarah when Bridget was sick and everyone else went to the tournament. Aunt Sarah's shoes were landspeeders that Barbie and Joe drove. They were there to rescue Princess Dani from a tower. I was going to pretend to put the tracker on Princess Dani's dragon that kept—"

When he bolted upright, Megan fell off his lap and flopped sideways onto the mattress. "Did you say you were playing with Aunt Sarah's shoes?"

She pushed back the hair that had fallen across her face and sat up. "Uh-huh. But I didn't mess them up or anything," she said, sounding slightly panicked thinking she was now getting into deeper trouble. "Aunt Sarah saw me. She was right there watching me play and she didn't tell me to stop."

"Do you remember which shoes they were?"

She scrunched her face, deep in thought. Nodding, she said, "They were boots. Not the black ones that go all the way above her knees. The shorter ones."

"You mean the ankle ones?"

"Mm-hmm. She wore them when we walked around the castle yesterday."

"Those were the ones she wore to the meet," he mused. Chuck's heart hammered in his chest. "Did you ever put the tracking device you took from Uncle Casey's bag in one of her boots?"

Eyes wide and beginning to puddle with tears, her head barely moved when she nodded and replied, "Mm-hmm. Barbie had it in her landspeeder. But when it was time to use it, I couldn't find it." She swiped her forearm across her red and running nose. "I started to look for it, but then it was time for lunch and we watched TV and I kinda forgot." A tear spilled and coursed down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Uncle Chuck."

On the outside, he tried to stay calm. Wiping away the tear, he said, "I know, Megs. Don't cry." On the inside, he felt jumpy, like he'd just downed a pot of coffee. "Did Uncle Casey tell you how he knows where the trackers are? Does he look for them on his phone? Is there some piece of special equipment he uses?" His questions spilled over each other.

"He has a program on his computer." She gazed into his face. "Am I in trouble?"

"You know what? We'll figure that out later. Right now, we need to go find Uncle Casey's computer."

She blinked away her tears and shrugged. "Okay."

Reaching out, he cupped her face with a hand. Had his help come, not in the form of opera singing boys, but from his spy-loving six-year-old with an active imagination? Was his magic music box Casey's computer? A faint flame of hope flickered in his chest. He sure hoped so.

~ O ~

Sarah grimaced and blinked against the light. Even though it came from the single light bulb that burned overhead, after spending hours in the darkness, it felt like she was looking into the sun. Squinting through her lashes, she saw three forms standing in front of her. After a brief moment, her eyes acclimated to the light and her vision cleared.

Three men loomed before them. The one in the middle, no more than six feet tall with an average build and his blond hair combed straight back, looked to be in his forties. The two men on either side of him were younger and much taller and bulkier than their associate. Brains and brawn, she decided. Looking at the two mountain-sized men, at least she now knew who had brought her and Casey into the basement.

Her gaze drifted back to the shorter man and returned his stare. His blue eyes were mirthless when he said, "Welcome. I hope you find our accommodations to your liking." His English was colored with a slight Russian accent. She immediately recognized the voice. He was the man she had spoken to on the phone, and the man she thought she would be buying information from. She wondered if the five thousand euros were still in her pocket.

"Meh, it's okay," Casey responded. "Room service stinks, though. I'm still waiting for the steak I ordered an hour ago. Check on that, would you?"

Blond Russian Guy's response was more sneer than smile, while Hulk One and Hulk Two stared at Casey dispassionately. "Who are you?" Blond Russian Guy asked. "Who do you work for?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Sarah replied.

"I do not think you are in much of a position to ask questions," he said. His head lifted slightly when he said, "I am not the one tied to a chair."

"I didn't ask for this. You're the one who abducted us from a public place where I was willing to buy information from you. Clean and simple. You're the one who changed the rules."

"Yes. Life is full of surprises." He gripped his hands behind his back. "I will ask you again. Who are you?"

Both she and Casey silently stared back at him.

Blond Russian Guy shrugged and took the phone from his pocket. "I gave you a chance to tell us yourself. Since you have chosen silence, we will figure it out another way," he said as he swept his thumb across the screen. He stepped over to stand directly in front of Sarah, held the phone up and snapped her picture.

Her stomach dropped. If they had the capability to run a facial recognition scan on her, there was a better than even chance that the information returned would reveal her to be Sarah Bartowski since that was the most recent passport she'd used. Was there footage of her with Chuck and the kids at the most recent passport control they'd gone through? Even if there wasn't, it might not take much for them to discover her connection to Chuck. She couldn't take the chance that they could find out about him and the kids. "Walker," she said. "My name is Sarah Walker and I work for the CIA."

Casey snapped his head toward her and made a noise that sounded like a bull ready to charge.

She glared back at him. "They're going to find out my name is _Walker_ anyway," she gave the name a bit of emphasis, "so I might as well cut the crap and get this moving along." Raising an eyebrow, she hoped the pointed stare got her message across. Casey's scowl never left his face, but she saw in his eyes that he understood.

"Well, Sarah Walker of the CIA, we will find out if you are telling the truth." He tapped at the phone with his thumbs and then Sarah heard the _swoosh_ of a text being sent.

"I told you my name and who I work for. Now tell me who you work for," Sarah demanded. "Is it Frost and Orion? That's who you said you were going to sell me information on. Are you trying to get me off their trail?"

When Blond Russian Guy chuckled, this time his smile reached his eyes. "So demanding for someone in such a position as you find yourself in. I do not have to tell you anything, Sarah Walker. However," he pulled a wad of euros from his front pocket and held it out for her to see, "since you did hold up your end of the bargain, I'll hold up mine. Frost and Orion are dead and have been for several years. My employer wants to know why you are sniffing around for them now."

The bombshell he so blithely dropped about Chuck's parents being dead made Sarah's head reel. She couldn't allow them to see any response from her, so she quickly clamped a lid on her emotions. Fortunately, Blond Russian Guy received a phone call that gave her a moment's reprieve to gather her composure.

Lifting the phone to his ear, he said, "Yes?" His eyes left Sarah's when he pulled the phone away to glance down at the screen. Putting the phone back to his ear, he continued, "That is her, although she is a blue-eyed blonde now." He squinted and studied her face more closely. "And it looks like the nose piercing has disappeared." He listened and then said, "Yes, I will do so. Goodbye."

"How is Monsieur Benoit?" Sarah asked evenly.

He smirked at her. "What makes you think that was Benoit?"

Sarah shrugged. "Him or one of his flunkies. He had ties to Frost and Orion and not very many people would have an old picture of me in their files. How he got it I don't know, since I've never met the man before." She lied about having never met Benoit, but it was true that she didn't know how he got a picture of her from that mission in Paraguay years before.

He crossed his arms and asked, "I will ask you again. Why are you asking about Frost and Orion?"

"They were on the CIA's radar for a long time and then they disappeared. Some bureaucrat wants to know what happened to them. Tying up loose ends. We had no idea we'd hit a nerve." She used every ounce of skill she had to stay emotionally detached when she said, "You say they're dead?"

"It happened about five years ago. They were on a boat taking them out to meet with Benoit on his yacht. About half way out, there was an _accident_," he said with a hint of glee in his voice. He glanced up first at Hulk One and then at Hulk Two, each sporting the barest trace of a smile. "Sadly, there was an explosion that blew the boat to smithereens. That is the word you Americans would use, yes?" He stared down at her. "I believe Monsieur Benoit no longer required their services."

Bile surged up Sarah's throat and she nearly retched. She had her answer. Benoit found out they were CIA and had them eliminated. Chuck would be devastated.

Casey spoke up. "Why kidnap us? Why not tell Walker all this at the pub?"

"Well, you see…" Blond Russian Guy raised his eyebrows at Casey and waited for him to fill in his name.

After Casey looked Sarah's way and she nodded her approval, he said, "Major John Casey, NSA."

Blond Russian Guy's eyes sparkled. "Excellent! You see, Major John Casey, NSA, my employer wanted to make sure you were telling the truth about who you are and why you were asking about Frost and Orion. It is a rather sore subject. At the pub, Agent Walker could have spun any number of stories as to who she is and what her intentions were. Being tied to a chair for an extended period of time tends to be a rather powerful incentive to tell the truth," he made a sweeping motion with his arm, "as we have just seen."

Being tied to a chair wasn't the reason she told the truth, but she certainly wasn't going to fill him in on the real one. She wondered if Blond Russian Guy knew she was also tasked to find his boss. He had only discussed her looking for Frost and Orion and she planned on keeping it that way. If he reported to Benoit that she was actively looking for him, too, this whole thing would end really badly for her and Casey. "Now that we won't be looking for Frost and Orion anymore, you can let us go."

He reached behind him and pulled out a pistol. From his front pocket came a suppressor. He slowly and methodically screwed it onto the barrel. "That is up to the boss to decide. We will let you know. Perhaps." He pointed it at Casey and pulled the trigger. Even with the suppressor, she jumped at the sound. Relief flooded her when she saw a tranquilizer dart in Casey's chest rather than a spreading circle of scarlet. However, her stomach dropped when she saw the colored tip on the dart. They weren't lethal, but they had a high dosage of sedative. He was going to be out for a long while. Then the pistol was pointed at her. She heard the pop and felt the stab. The three men in front of her grew blurry, her ears hummed and then the world went dark again.

~ O ~

Chuck pulled on a pair of jeans, but didn't bother to put on shoes. Once he moved to stand in front of Megan, the little girl stood up on the bed and hopped onto his back. He carried her piggyback through the dark apartment and out the door. Vegas—on duty and sitting in a chair just outside the apartment—was so startled by Chuck and Megan's sudden appearance, he nearly toppled to the floor. It was obvious he wasn't expecting to see anyone in the hall at four-thirty in the morning.

"We need Casey's computer," Chuck said without preamble.

"Um. Okay," Vegas replied. He stood and fished the key to the Man Cave from his pocket and handed it to Chuck. Eyeing Megan, he looked even more confused by her clinging to Chuck's back. "Why?"

Megan slid a little when he let go of her leg to take the key. Once his grip was back in place, he bent his knees and hitched her up so she was higher on his back. "There's a chance one of Casey's tracking devices ended up in Sarah's boot. If it's there, then we should be able to find her using the tracking program on his computer." He tried not to sound too excited since he had no proof that the tracker was actually where he thought it might be. But the idea of finding a lead to Sarah's whereabouts caused a thrill to swell inside him and bubble into his voice.

"How could one of Major Casey's trackers end up in Agent Walker's boot?" Vegas asked, still completely befuddled. His gaze drifted from Chuck's face to Megan's.

The little girl said nothing. She didn't need to. The way she sheepishly buried her face in her uncle's neck spoke volumes.

Vegas' face cleared with understanding and a tiny smile twitched on his lips. "I see." Addressing Chuck, he said, "I need to stay here at my post. Agent Barstow can help you if you need help finding the Major's computer."

"Thanks. I'm sure we'll be fine. We'll let you know if we find out anything." Chuck spun, headed for the stairs and hurried down them, Megan's arms gripping his neck tightly as she bounced along. Once at the Man Cave's door, he set Megan on her feet and slipped the key in the lock. He almost jumped out of his skin when he opened the door to find Barstow standing in front of him with the pistol in his hand held down against his thigh.

"It's okay, Scott," Chuck said, holding his hands up in front of him as if surrendering. "It's just me. Chuck." He reached over and flipped the switch next to the door, turning on the lights in the room.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" The agent seemed just as startled to see Chuck. "Yikes!" His cheeks flared red when he noticed Megan trail into the room behind her uncle. He bounded over to the couch where a pillow and rumpled blanket indicated he'd been sleeping there, grabbed a pair of jeans off the armrest and yanked them on over his SpongeBob SquarePants boxers. Tugging on a gray "Property of the DEA" t-shirt, he asked, "Has something happened?" He eyed Megan again, picked up the pistol he'd tossed onto the couch before he pulled on his pants and slipped it into his waistband at the small of his back.

"No. Yes. Well, maybe," Chuck babbled. He closed his eyes to steady himself. Taking a deep breath, he opened them and looked back at Barstow's confused face. "I need to get at Casey's computer. We might be able to locate Sarah with it."

Barstow didn't ask how or why. He simply walked over to a second couch in the room—one set against a wall—and slid Casey's large duffle bag out from under it. As he unzipped the top, he said, "Please tell the Major I'm sorry I touched his stuff."

"If this works, I think he'll be okay with you going through his stuff, just this one time," Chuck answered.

The look that crossed Barstow's face told Chuck the agent was dubious about a positive reaction coming from Casey with regard to anyone touching his possessions for any reason without his permission. Maybe positive was stretching it. Even a neutral reaction would be a step forward for the big man.

From under a pile of clothes, Barstow pulled out a computer bag and handed it to Chuck. In a flash, Chuck was on the couch with the computer open on his lap. He turned it on and waited as it booted, rubbing his hands together nervously as the box requiring a password popped up on the screen. Glancing down at the keyboard, he was pleased to see that the computer only needed a password and not a biometric scan as well. He could have gotten around it, of course, but it would have taken more time. Chuck glanced over at Barstow—who was painstakingly putting Casey's duffle bag back in order—and said, "I don't know his password. Do you?"

"No, sir."

He flopped back against the cushions of the couch and ran his hands through his hair. Knowing the major, he wouldn't have shared his password with very many people, if any. Chuck wondered if Casey would have told Martie his password, or perhaps how to get it. He knew the major trusted the little girl with his secrets. After all, the box that held the extra key to Casey's condo in Beaver Creek had opened when Sarah had scanned Martie's eye with a biometric retina scanner.

Megan climbed up onto the couch and sat next to him, her bare feet sticking straight out in front of her. Chuck peered down at his niece and asked, "You don't happen to know Uncle Casey's computer password, do you?"

She gave him doleful look and slowly shook her head.

"Does Martie know?" he asked.

This time, she shrugged. "I dunno."

He huffed a breath and stared blankly at Megan as he considered his options. He had to get the tracking program going on Casey's computer as soon as possible. Obviously, the quickest way to do that would be to know the password. That meant waking Martie to find out if she knew it. If she didn't, he could try and guess it, but it could be anything and it could take way too long. Fortunately, he was a hacker by trade and had a couple of different ways around the password requirement.

Before he did that, he decided to try just a couple of obvious words that Casey might use. When "Semper Fi," "Reagan," and "oorah" didn't work, he knew any more guesses would be a waste of time. He set the laptop on the couch next to Megan and said, "I need to run upstairs and get my computer and stuff. You stay here with Agent Barstow. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

Her gaze snapped to Barstow, who by now had put Casey's things away and sat on the couch where he'd been sleeping. She squinted at him as if trying to decide if this arrangement was acceptable to her or not. Unfazed, Barstow stared back at her until his wink made her giggle. "Okay, I'll stay with Agent Barstow," she said with a smile. "He saved Spy Barbie."

"Great!" With no further discussion, he jumped up from the couch, ran out the door and rocketed up the stairs, his long legs taking the steps two at a time.

Vegas, still at his post, leapt from his chair when he saw Chuck appear. "Well?"

"I need to get past Casey's password," Chuck said. He put his hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn it. "You don't happen to know it, do you?"

"No."

"That's okay. I can get around it. It would just be faster if I did." Without waiting for a response, Chuck quietly turned the knob, opened the door and closed it behind him. The room was still dark, and going from the lighted hallway to darkened room made him blind.

"Who's there?" Lizzie asked in a sharp, barking whisper. Chuck heard sheets rustle as she sat up.

"It's just me." Not wanting to crash into the furniture and break a toe, he stood and waited for his eyes to adjust. He didn't have to wait long when Lizzie switched on the lamp next to her.

Blinking with a grimace at the light, she asked, "What's going on? What time is it?"

"One of Casey's trackers might be stuck inside Aunt Sarah's boot. If it is, we can track her to her location. I need to get past the password on his computer downstairs and I need my laptop to do that. And it's about four-thirty in the morning."

Lizzie tossed back the sheets and swung her feet onto the floor. "How can I help?"

As he crossed the room to his and Sarah's bedroom, he said, "I hate to wake her, but Martie might know the password. If she does, it will save me some time. Can you go ask her while I get my computer stuff together?"

"Yup." She was off the couch and strode toward Martie's room before he'd even reached his. He snatched the computer bag from the floor and tossed it on the bed. Flipping it open, he checked in one of the pockets to make sure the CDs he might need were there. He suspended the facial recognition program that was still running on the open laptop, closed the top and slipped it in the bag. Now was the time to put his full concentration on finding Sarah and Casey. They would find out who kidnapped them later.

He pulled the zipper of the bag closed, slung the strap over his shoulder and turned to find Lizzie and Martie standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry Uncle Chuck. Uncle Casey never told me his password," Martie said. Her face was filled with concern as she gripped her sister's hand.

Chuck rubbed his thumb over her cheek. "Don't worry about it. I can work around it. I thought I'd ask."

"Can we come with you?" Lizzie asked. "All we'll do up here is worry and wonder what's going on. I don't think either of us will go back to sleep." Martie looked up at her sister, then to Chuck and nodded.

"Sure. Let's go." The three were out the door and back down in the other apartment in no time. Chuck set Casey's computer on the glass dining room table and sat down. Megan scrambled up onto the chair next to him while Martie and Lizzie stood behind and watched intently.

He was faced with a choice to make on how to proceed with regard to the password issue. He could run a program that would use hash tables to find the password. The other option was to use a program to reset the password. Depending on the complexity of the password—the NSA probably drilled it into Casey's head to make sure it was difficult to crack—he had no idea how long it would take for the table program to find it, if it would at all. He couldn't stand the idea of passively sitting by and watching the computer churn, so he opted for the other method involving resetting the password.

He found the disc he needed, slipped it into the drive and rebooted the laptop. After a quick installation and some typed in commands, he had the password reset. Once into the hard drive, he found that all of the files were encrypted. Fortunately, he was more than up to the task of breaking the encryption. "This is why they pay me the big bucks," he mumbled.

"Did you find her?" Megan asked hopefully, leaning toward him to get a better look at the screen.

"Nope, not yet. I have to run Project Sun Ray on Uncle Casey's computer to decrypt the files." He really hoped the very program that brought Sarah into his life in the first place would help bring her back to him now. He took his computer from his bag and placed it on the table next to Casey's. He then plugged in a cable that ran from his to Casey's, opened his laptop and set Project Sun Ray software to work on Casey's laptop. There weren't a lot of files on it, so Chuck hoped the decryption would go quickly.

After a few minutes of watching text scroll up both screens, the girls got bored and wandered over to the couch and turned on the TV. After some surfing, they settled on a nature program about bees.

Chuck's leg bounced nervously as he sat and watched the progression bar at the bottom of the screen slowly move. After fifteen minutes, the drive was fifty percent decrypted. While he was pleased at how rapidly his software was working, he wished it would go even faster. Tired of bouncing his leg, but growing more restless, he rose from his chair and began to pace the floor.

Megan pulled on the sleeve of her oldest sister's t-shirt to get her attention. "Lizzie, he keeps walking in front of the TV."

"He's anxious for the software to finish. Sometimes people walk around like that when they're nervous and waiting."

"Oh." Megan's eyes tracked Chuck as he paced back and forth across the room.

"Are you nervous?" Martie asked, her blue eyes boring into Lizzie's.

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

"Me, too. Now I know what it feels like when someone says they have butterflies in their stomach. I've got a whole bunch."

Chuck had been listening to their conversation and blew out a breath. "I'm with you, Martie. I think I have a whole flock. Or is it a swarm?" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Whatever it's called, I've got it."

Still unable to sit, he continued to prowl around the room. He stopped occasionally to stand in front of the artwork hanging on the walls. His eyes would stare, but he didn't comprehend what he was looking at. He wandered over to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he peered out into the world as the black night began to gray. The dawn of a new day brought a hope that he would find her. He felt it in his gut. Just as he knew he loved her with every fiber of his being, he knew that today, she would return to them, to the family that needed her so.

There was a hint of unease in Barstow's voice when it pulled Chuck from his musings. "Are you okay, sir?"

Chuck's head snapped up and he sucked in a breath. Turning away from the window, he answered with conviction, "Yeah, Scott. I'm okay." His eyes burned with resolve when he looked over to the three girls snuggled together on the couch, Lizzie in the middle with her arms around her two little sisters. "It's going to be okay."

He strode back to the table and checked on the progress bar again. It was nearly filled and read at ninety percent. Sitting down again, he rarely blinked as he watched the percentage tick up. As soon as it reached one hundred percent, he pounced on the keyboard of Casey's laptop and searched for the tracking program.

"It's here! I found the tracking program," he announced. Barstow and the girls clustered around behind him, every eye fixed on the screen as Chuck took a deep breath and opened the program.

A satellite image of a city appeared with one red dot. Chuck immediately recognized it as Prague, as he had intensively studied the map of the city the day before when he and Barstow went to the Bubny railway yard.

Chuck pointed at the index of ten numbers listed in the vertical window along the left side of the screen. "That must be a list of all of the trackers the program is picking up."

"Why are there only two dots?" Martie asked.

As Chuck zoomed in closer, the two dots moved farther apart.

From behind him, Lizzie reached over his shoulder and pointed at the group of red dots clumped in one area. "That must be the ones in Uncle Casey's bag and on Megan's dolls. They're all in one place. That's why it looked like there were only two dots. One of them is a bunch of them all together."

"You're right," Chuck answered. "They're all together in the area where we are right now." The butterflies were back, now performing aerial acrobatics. His eyes were riveted on the other dot's location. It was to the west of their apartment, on the other side of the Vltava River, not terribly far from where they had been when they visited Prague Castle the day before. It had to be where Sarah was.

His hands shook as he scrolled the map to the dot off by itself and zoomed in closer. The area where the dot was located was much greener than where they were situated in the middle of town. There were both open grassy areas as well as forested ones. Unfortunately, Chuck didn't see a way of layering street and landmark information onto the satellite image, so he turned to his computer and opened a browser. The map he examined had street, area and landmark names. He moved his face closer to the screen, glanced back to Casey's computer and then back to the map. "Sarah's right there," he said, pointing at the cluster of red roofed buildings at the northwest edge of the area of green. He squinted at the words, "She's at a place called _Strahovský klášter_." He opened a new tab and did a quick word translation. "_Klášter_ is monastery in Czech. Doesn't say what _Strahovský_ means."

Lizzie peered over his shoulder to get a better look at the screen with the map overlays. "Whatever it means, it sure seems important. There's a _Strahovský_ stadium and _Strahovský_ tunnel that runs right under it."

Chuck's fingers flew over the keyboard as he did another quick search. "It's the _Strahov_ district of Prague." He turned and looked at Agent Barstow. "Whatever it's called, we need to get there."

Barstow nodded. "We need Agent Vegas in on—" He was cut off when there was a knock on the door. He crossed the room and opened the door to reveal Vegas, Bridget and Lisa.

"I got up to go to the bathroom and the lights were on and everyone was gone," Bridget said with a frown. "So I woke Lisa up and Agent Vegas brought us down here. What's going on?"

"Sorry. It's all happened so fast," Chuck said to her. "I think we found Aunt Sarah and Uncle Casey if he's with her."

Lisa's eyes lit up. "That's awesome!" When Lizzie shushed her, she dipped her head. "Sorry."

To Vegas, Chuck said, "Lars, take a look at this. I think Sarah's right there. At the _Strahovský _monastery." He twisted in his chair and looked up at the agent. "Graham put you in charge. What's next? How do we save her? Them?"

Vegas scrutinized the screen of Chuck's computer. "It looks like she's only a few kilometers from here." Everyone seemed to hold their breaths as he thought. After a moment, he asked Barstow, "You ready to go on another mission with Agent Carmichael?"

Without hesitation, he answered, "Yes."

Chuck's eyebrows shot up. "Isn't Graham going to hit the ceiling if I go out again?"

Vegas' eyes snapped. "You said it a minute ago. Graham put me in charge. I'm not going to check in with him every time I need to wipe my—" He stopped and looked at the girls. "Pardon me."

Martie gazed up at him. "It's okay. I really miss Uncle Casey and it was like he was talking just then. I liked it."

The tension in the room plunged and held breaths were expelled with low chuckles.

Vegas continued. "Nothing has changed from when we thought they were at the Bubny railway yard. Either Barstow or I need to stay on protection detail. The other needs to go where Agent Walker and hopefully Major Casey are and that agent needs backup. There's no one else, so that means you, sir. I understand from Barstow that the two of you worked well together when you were at Bubny, so I'm sending you two out and I'll quarterback from here." His stare drilled into Chuck's. "I'll let you go on two conditions."

Bobbing his head, Chuck said, "I'll do anything you say."

"One, you follow Barstow's or my orders to the letter. If you get there and Barstow says to stay in the van, you stay in the van. If I tell you to hide in a closet, you hide. If I pull the plug at some point along the way before we've secured them, no questions. Capiche?"

The muscles in Chuck's jaw worked as he gave Vegas a curt nod.

"Two, you promise to stop Agent Walker from busting me to a rank lower than Junior Agent Woodcomb when she finds out I let you go out on these missions in the first place."

Barstow raised a hand. "I want in on that part of the deal, too."

Chuck's face relaxed into a smile. "I'll do my best, but you know I can't promise anything when it comes to my wife's job."

"Do that bouncing thing with your eyebrows," Vegas advised as he took his phone from his pocket. "That'll help. In the meantime, I need to make a couple of calls and get some things lined up before you leave." He looked from Chuck to Barstow and then back to Chuck. "Saddle up you two. It's time to bring our people back."

~ O ~

**A/N the second**: There really is a _Strahovský klášter_ in Prague. I have some pictures over at my blog. Chuckvssom dot blogspot dot com.


	33. Rescue Me

**A/N: **Thank you all so much for the wonderful welcome back greetings! I'm also so pleased to hear how much you enjoyed the previous chapter. Thank you for the wonderful reviews, PMs and tweets. And welcome to those of you who are new readers to this story. It's great to have you coming along for the ride.

Thank you, **AgentInWaiting**, for your wonderful work on this chapter and everything you do in helping me with this story.

**Chapter 33 – Rescue Me**

Chuck's knee bounced as Barstow drove the van—which appeared in front of the apartment building an hour after Vegas made a couple of phone calls—down _M. Horácové_, the boulevard taking them west toward the _Strahovský _monastery. That was where they thought Sarah and presumably Casey were. When the leg jiggling wasn't helping to expel his nervous energy, he started to tap his fingers absently on his thigh. A couple of hours had passed since they first found Casey's tracker they believed was stuck inside Sarah's boot and they were finally on their way to where she was. Had Chuck had his druthers, he would have called a cab or started walking an hour ago. He would have gotten there sooner. But cooler and more knowledgeable heads prevailed so he had to be patient. It wasn't easy.

There were a number of reasons for the delay, all of which made sense to Chuck, even if he didn't like the idea of waiting to go to Sarah another minute. The primary consideration was the fact that they were on their way to infiltrate a real, working monastery with real, live clerics and novices. They last thing they wanted to do was go into a place like that with guns blazing, so they had to devise a plan that would cause the least amount of havoc to Chuck and Barstow, those living and working in the monastery and the buildings themselves.

Through some creative hacking, Chuck had found and downloaded rough schematics for the main buildings of the monastery. He couldn't find ones that were very precise since structures in one form or another had stood on that spot for nearly a thousand years. However, based on the schematics and the satellite images they'd studied, it looked like Sarah was being held somewhere in the building where the library was housed. Upon further research, Chuck found that the library wasn't a small room piled with a few dusty old Bibles and prayer books. Instead, it was a crown jewel of Prague, an important repository of over two hundred thousand old books, prints and manuscripts collected over and maintained for hundreds of years. There would be a serious amount of security surrounding such treasures and simply crawling through a window to gain access to the place wasn't going to happen.

The idea of having Chuck and Barstow gain access to the monastery dressed as clerics was floated and shot down quickly since they were fresh out of white cassocks. Plus, Barstow only spoke a smattering of Czech while Chuck spoke none. They finally decided they would have to wait until the building opened for visitors and go in as tourists. It nevertheless humored Chuck to think of the jokes Sarah could have made about him not making a very good priest. He couldn't wait to tell her about it. He blew out a loud breath and slapped his hand harder against the top of his leg. He couldn't wait to tell her about anything, everything or nothing at all.

Barstow took his eyes from the road to wordlessly glance over at Chuck. Having seen a similar look a hundred times on his kids' faces, he immediately read Scott's to say, "Knock it off."

Chuck flinched, stilled his hands and mumbled, "Sorry. I'm really nervous."

If Barstow had a snarky comment to such an obvious statement, the agent kept it to himself. He merely continued to chew his gum and returned his attention to the road ahead.

Chuck followed suit and watched the part of Prague rushing past outside the side window. They were out of Old Town and into a setting that appeared to be much more suburban. To his right, they drove past apartment building after apartment building. On the left were tracks where they would pass or meet an occasional tram.

"Barstow, you're going to make a left at the next light and then a quick right," Chuck heard Vegas say through his Bluetooth earpiece.

"Roger," Barstow responded into his small headset. He executed the turns and continued traveling west. Then the road bent to the south. Chuck immediately noticed the increase in the number of trees. His heart began to hammer harder in his chest. They were close. He could have been following their route on his phone, but he didn't need to. The satellite image of where Sarah was and the route to get to her were burned in his brain. Besides, both Chuck and Scott each had one of Casey's trackers stuck inside their shoes so that Vegas could follow them on Casey's computer. With Barstow, Chuck and Sarah all on the same screen, Vegas would guide them to Sarah's location.

"Okay," Vegas' voice said in his ear. "From _Dlabačov_, you're going to see a red guardrail and an incline to your left. Take that one-eighty degree turn, and park at the top of the ramp. You'll have to walk the rest of the way in on _Strahovské nádvoří_."

"Copy," Barstow replied. When they approached the red railing, he cranked the steering wheel hard to the left, drove the van up the ramp and parked near an arched gateway.

Chuck opened the door of the van, jumped out and grabbed Fred's backpack from the foot well. He wore the same bulletproof vest he'd worn the day before, only this time it was under his shirt. He slung the rucksack over his shoulder and slammed the door. "What's _nádvoří_ mean?" he asked, looking up at the archway and the three large statues on top of it.

He heard tapping at a keyboard through his earpiece. "Courtyard."

"How far to the buildings?" Barstow closed the door on his side of the van, came around the back, and started toward the archway. Chuck fell in step next to him.

"About a hundred meters."

"You still tracking us?" Barstow asked.

"Yeah, and there's been no movement on Agent Walker's tracker."

That intel both relieved and terrified Chuck. It was good that she wasn't moving away from them, that they were about to find her. However, the thought of why she wasn't moving and what state they might find her in made him stumble. He caught himself before he crashed to the ground.

"You okay, sir?" Barstow asked.

"Yeah. Worrying about my wife and these damn cobblestones are a bad combination," he replied.

Barstow eyed him but didn't say anything.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. As they approached the buildings, there were already groups of people standing around, waiting to go in. One group stood in front of the door that led to the inside of a basilica. The other, smaller group stood off to the right, in front of the door with the large plaque that read, _Strahovská knihovna_, or Strahov library. Chuck and Barstow joined that group and waited. Chuck checked his watch. It was five minutes to nine.

"Anything on the satellite?" Barstow asked Vegas.

"No suspicious activities since it was tasked on the area two hours ago."

Chuck glanced at Barstow. "Is that good or bad?"

"Nothing one way or the other. We want eyes on the area in case the bad guys take a flyer before we can nail them."

"Kind of like a police helicopter over a high speed chase on the 405?"

Scott nodded. "Something like that, yeah."

A bell in one of the two tall towers to their left began to solemnly toll. After it rang nine times, other bells took over and chimed out a tune. Chuck didn't recognize it, but it sounded like a hymn. The doors of both buildings opened. A sudden spurt of adrenaline and the pounding in Chuck's ears kept him from hearing the rest. They each paid their eighty Czech crowns entrance fee and stepped into the building.

Directly ahead of them was a long room with old books standing on rich, ornate wooden shelves that lined the walls. The ceiling was decorated with a colorful fresco. Under normal circumstances, Chuck would have spent more time admiring the art and architecture. At present, he could care less.

"Take the hallway to the left," Vegas directed in his ear. He followed Scott's pace and sauntered down the corridor. It was hard acting like a tourist, stopping to scan the shelves of books that stood from floor to ceiling and feigning interest in them. They finally reached the end of the hallway. To their right was another room filled with books. The paintings and decorations on the ceiling were even fancier than the ones in the first room they'd looked in.

"Take the stairs to your left," Vegas told them. Chuck looked at the thick, braided rope that hung across the entrance to the stairs and a sign that hung from it. He couldn't read the Czech, but the English written below was crystal clear in its intent. "Authorized personnel only."

As soon as the four people that had stood at the end of the hallway near them moved away, Scott cleared his throat and caught Chuck's attention. Barstow stepped over the rope, turned and disappeared down the steps. Chuck practically hurdled the barrier and had to slow himself to keep from passing Barstow on their way down the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, they could only turn left. Barstow drew his weapon from his waistband and checked around the corner before he stepped into the dimly lit corridor. Chuck followed him as they moved quickly and quietly along the passageway, his hand fishing around at the bottom of his backpack for his tranq pistol. Once he found the weapon, he slung the rucksack back over his shoulder and wiped his brow on his arm.

Closed doors lined the right side of the hallway–offices of the people that worked in the library. If Chuck's memory of the schematics and his sense of direction hadn't failed him, he reckoned they were now walking under the first hall of books. That also meant the offices ran along the west exterior wall of library building. That was a good sign. They were getting closer.

They still had about ten meters to go before they came to the end of the passageway. "Turn left at the end of the corridor," Vegas advised them. "You're closing in on Agent Walker's position."

Chuck was so distracted by the fact he was so close to finding Sarah, he jumped when the door they had just passed swung open. He turned to find an equally surprised man in his forties staring at him with wide eyes and mouth agape. What the man said to Chuck, he didn't understand, but the tone was questioning.

Chuck hid his tranq gun behind his back and raised his free hand as surrendering. He tried to keep his voice soothing when he said, "Just passing through."

The man's expression turned from surprise to anger. He began shouting at Chuck and pointing back down the corridor, obviously telling them to get out. When Chuck shook his head, the man's face reddened with ire and he charged at him. Without thinking, Chuck switched the gun to his left hand, balled a fist with his right, reared back and swung at the man's face. A blast of pain exploded in his hand and radiated up his arm when he connected with the man's jaw. His adversary crumpled to the floor in a heap.

"I think I might have just punched a monk," Chuck said, wincing as he shook out his hand and looked down at the fiery red mark growing on the man's cheek and jaw.

"Nice right hook," Barstow said, clapping Chuck on the shoulder. "And I don't think he's a monk. He's probably just a librarian." The agent stepped around the man on the floor and picked up an arm. "We've gotta move him out of here in case his yelling caught someone's attention."

Chuck hurried to pick up the other arm and they dragged the unconscious man into his office and closed the door.

"You okay there?" Vegas asked as they quickly walked toward the end of the hallway. "I thought I heard yelling."

"Yeah, we're fine." There was a hint of amusement in Barstow's voice when he said, "Carmichael had to lay out a librarian."

Vegas snickered. "Everyone knows librarians can't take a punch."

They took the left and the lightheartedness of the moment before faded when a large wooden door stopped them. Barstow tried the doorknob. It was locked.

"You're there," Vegas said.

"Copy," Barstow replied. He held out his hand and whispered to Chuck, "You got my lock pick set?"

Chuck nodded his head vigorously. He shoved his weapon into his waistband and opened the backpack. He spied the small black case on top of the sweatshirt he'd stuffed into the bag to hide its more unusual contents. He withdrew the case and handed it to Scott who unzipped it, removed two of the metal implements and knelt down in front of the door.

"Keep an eye out. Don't hesitate to use that tranq gun of yours."

"Roger," Chuck answered quietly. After shaking out and flexing his throbbing hand again, he withdrew the pistol from his waistband. He kept his eyes fixed on the short hallway, waiting for someone to burst around the corner and arrest them both. He listened intently for footsteps coming toward them, but the only thing he heard was the sound of metal scratching and scraping against metal as Barstow worked the lock.

"I'll have it in just a second," Barstow advised him. "This lock is pretty old and not very sophisticated." He chuckled quietly and said with great affection, "Kinda like my grandma back in Nebraska." There was a soft click. "There we go." Barstow quickly put the picks back in their slots, zipped up the case and tossed it into Chuck's backpack.

"You stay right there," Barstow said in a whisper, pointing to a place on the wall near the door where he wanted Chuck to stand. He knew the drill and moved to his position. Eyes glued to Barstow, Chuck barely breathed. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the hall as he watched Barstow grip the doorknob in his left hand and a nine mil in his right.

The agent mouthed, "Three, two, one," turned the knob and pushed the door open. Heart pounding, Chuck waited for word from Barstow. "Clear," came the loud whisper.

Scowling, Chuck peered around the open doorway and watched Barstow take a short set of steps down to another closed door. His jaw clenched, Chuck growled into the headset, "Vegas, I thought you said we were there."

"You are. Or at least you should be. You don't see them?"

"No." If this was another case of Sarah's stuff being there without Sarah, he was going to put his already sore fist through a wall.

"Hey!" Barstow whispered sharply and pointed at the doorknob. Chuck nodded and handed him the lock pick case again. While Barstow picked the lock, he forced himself to take a deep breath in through his nose and blow it out slowly through his lips. Now was not the time to lose focus. He heard the telltale click and the case went back into his backpack.

Without being told, Chuck took his position against the wall next to the door. Barstow didn't bother to count down this time, instead quickly turning the knob and swinging the door open. The agent rushed into the room and shouted, "Clear. They're here!"

Chuck tore into the room. His felt slightly faint when he saw her, her head slumped forward on her chest. Despite the fact that his legs felt like wet spaghetti, he ran to her and dropped to his knees in front of her. He placed a shaking hand on her arm. It was all he could do not to collapse into a quivering mass in relief when he felt its warmth. Swallowing hard, he reached up and pressed two fingers against her neck. Her pulse was strong and regular. Blinking back the burning tears, he placed both hands on either side of her face and lifted it. Holding back the sob that wanted to escape, he caressed her face and tenderly kissed both cheeks and then her lips. "Come on, baby," he said, rubbing his thumbs over her cheeks. "It's time to wake up."

~ O ~

Far off in the distance, Sarah heard a voice calling out to her, telling her it was time to wake up. Her mind rebelled, knowing it was safer to stay asleep. But the voice was insistent, calling her name. As it grew clearer and closer, she realized she knew the voice that called to her. She tried to respond, but she couldn't form any words. The only thing that escaped from her throat was a groan. That excited the voice and made it call out to her even more urgently.

"Sarah, sweetheart, you're almost there. You can do it," the voice said. She felt something brush across cheeks, across her eyelids, across her lips. "Listen to my voice, Sarah. Come back. It's me. Chuck."

When she heard the name, consciousness crashed in on her and her eyes flew open. The face in front of her was blurry, but even through the haze she knew it was him. "Chuck." She reached up, put her hands to his face and pulled it to hers. She kissed his lips and his face and tasted the salt on his cheeks. His arms crushed her to him as she flung hers around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Chuck." She reveled in the security of his embrace and his scent enveloping her. "You found me."

He gently stroked her hair. "I wasn't going to stop until I did."

Her arms tightened around him, she scarcely allowing herself to believe he was really there. But he _was_ there holding her—the man she loved, the man who showed her she was more than just a spy—was real and in the flesh. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Both won out when she burbled a happy sob.

As they clung to each other, the fact that her arms were no longer bound to the chair slowly edged into her mind. When the implications finally hit her, she pulled back and stared at him wide-eyed. "Chuck! You're here! What are you doing here? Who in the hell allowed you to go on a mission like this?" She looked over to a still unconscious Casey. "We've got to get you out of here. The guys who took us could come back."

"As soon as we get Casey awake, we'll be out of here." He gave her a soft kiss and then released her. From the floor, he picked up the knife he'd used to free Sarah, knelt in front of Casey and sliced at a cable tie that bound Casey's hand.

"Heads will roll, Chuck, if you're here by yourself," Sarah growled as she rubbed her wrist.

"I'm not. Scott's covering the door." Chuck cut through the last cable tie from Casey's ankle and tossed it away. "He's starting to come around." He looked over to Sarah and winked before he barked, "Wake up, you pantywaist!"

Casey's head snapped up and his eyes darted wildly around the room. When he finally focused in on Chuck, he snarled, "Who're you calling a pantywaist?"

"Maybe you should have called him that before you cut off those cable ties," Sarah said.

"Good point." To Casey, Chuck said, "Welcome back."

"What the hell are you doing here, Bartowski?"

"I believe it's called 'saving your ass.'" Chuck moved back and knelt in front of Sarah. "And you're welcome."

Casey scooted to the edge of his chair and moved his sore shoulder around like a baseball pitcher warming up his throwing arm. He nodded once and said, "Thanks."

The sarcasm was absent this time when Chuck replied, "You're welcome."

Sarah had a million questions, but they would have to wait. Right then, they needed to get out of there, wherever there was. That was the one question she needed an answer to. "Where are we, anyway? Is it safe to assume we're still in Prague?"

"Mm-hmm." Chuck reached up and gently brushed at the hair across her forehead with a finger. "We're currently under the library of the _Strahovský klášter._"

She stared at him, unblinking. "You're kidding."

"Nope," he answered, a tiny smile gracing his face. "You know it?"

"I've heard of it, but never been to it. Until now anyway." Shaking her head in disbelief, she mused, "What is it with me and religious cloisters?" Carina would have a field day with this latest intel. Knowing what was coming, Sarah didn't feel as bad about having put her friend on that "I'm-thinking-about-becoming-a-nun" mailing list last year.

Chuck kissed her again and then sat back on his heels. He dragged Fred's backpack in front of him and rooted around at the bottom with a hand. "Ah, here we go." He removed an ankle holster—each gleaming throwing knife in its slot—and held it up for her to view.

"Those are my knives." She sat back, thoroughly stunned to see them. When she didn't feel their weight on her leg when she first awoke in the basement, she wasn't sure she'd ever see them again. "How did you end up with them?"

"I'll tell you all about it later. I know how you hate going anywhere without them." He slid up her jeans, exposing her lower leg. "Allow me," he said, slipping the holster around her calf, just above her ankle boot and tightening it. She smiled at him when he grinned up at her and said, "Kind of the reverse of taking off a wedding garter, huh?"

How she loved this sweet, thoughtful man kneeling before her. "I seem to recall you found my knife before you found my garter on our wedding day," she said as she watched him pull down the leg of her jeans over the knives.

The tips of his ears turned red. He judiciously kept his eyes down dug as he through the backpack again. "Don't make me go to my happy place. We don't have time." Finding what he was looking for, he removed her Smith & Wesson from the bag and handed it to her. She took it, checked the magazine and seeing that it was fully loaded, slammed it back in place.

"Knives _and_ a gun. You do give a girl the best gifts, Mr. Bartowski," she murmured and placed a kiss on his forehead.

Casey squinted at Chuck and then looked down at the backpack. "You got my Sig in that thing?"

"That depends," he answered, raising an eyebrow at the major. "You gonna break my fingers if you find out I might have touched your gun?"

Casey stood and stretched. "No. Not this time. And no, I'm not going to kiss you either."

"Well, in that case I have it right here." Chuck took the pistol from the backpack and handed it to Casey.

Casey grunted his thanks, checking the clip of the gun just as Sarah had done a moment before. "I'm ready to get out of here. I've had enough of this room."

Sarah took her husband's offered hand and stood. She couldn't believe how wonderful it felt to straighten her legs. "Me, too. Let's go."

They walked across the room to where Barstow stood guard at the door. "Agent Barstow," Sarah said. Her tone could have formed icicles on the sun.

Barstow paled slightly when she pinned him with an intense stare. "Ma'am," he croaked. Clearing his throat, he added, "Glad we found you."

Realizing that he had just helped save her and Casey, she allowed her gaze to relent a fraction and said, "Thank you."

The agent had started to breathe again when she continued, "Talked to Agents Burr and Bank in Siberia, lately?"

He paled once more and looked at Casey, pleadingly. "Major."

Casey jutted his chin out, jerked his head up once, and gave a grimly amused grunt in response.

"Okay, Scott," Chuck said, clapping the agent on the shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

"Right," he said, regaining focus having at least survived his initial contact with Agent Walker. "Wait here. I'll be right back." He went out the door and turned to the right. He was gone for about thirty seconds and when he returned, he said, "Vegas, there's a set of stairs that leads to a door at the other end of the hall. Where does the door lead?"

Sarah watched Chuck and Barstow make eye contact with each other as they listened to Vegas' response. Both frowned and shook their heads, obviously not liking the information the other agent was giving them.

Chuck took the phone from his back pocket and pulled up a satellite map app. After a quick examination, he said, "The door leads outside, but Vegas is right. We don't want to go out that way. We'd have to walk back down the path and we'd be out in the open."

"So we take our chances with angry librarians?" Barstow asked.

Chuck shrugged. "I think so. It's the fastest and least exposed way out."

"Barstow and I'll take point," Casey said.

"Chuck, you stay behind me," Sarah said, moving between him and the door.

Frowning, he said, "Wait a minute. _I'm_ the one wearing the bulletproof vest." To prove it, he tapped his knuckles on his abdomen. "I should go in front of you."

"No, you're not going in front of me and yes, you'd _better_ be wearing a vest," she said, pointedly cutting her eyes toward Barstow. "And you're going to keep it on," she added, knowing he would offer it to her if she insisted on going ahead of him. Her brow furrowed when she noticed the way he flinched and shook out his hand after rapping his knuckles on the vest. That was another question for later. "Chuck, I know how incredibly brave you are and I know you want to protect me just as much as I want to protect you. But I know what the bad guys look like. I can react quicker if I see them."

He didn't look very happy about it, but he acquiesced. "Fine, but only at corners. Once we're in the main corridor, we're next to each other." His voice was firm.

She reached out and fiddled with his shirt collar. "Okay."

"Great," Casey groused. "Now that you two have had your Dr. Phil moment, we can get out of here. I gotta pee like a racehorse."

Chuck snorted a laugh while Sarah's wide eyes and nod indicated that she knew exactly what Casey was talking about. "Oh, geez! Right," Chuck said. "Let's roll."

They left the room single file with Barstow taking the lead, followed by Casey, Sarah and then Chuck. Barstow poked his head around the corner, made sure the hall was clear and then waved a hand for them to follow. As they rushed down the hall, Sarah noticed Chuck warily eye one door in particular as they passed. They had almost reached the stairs at the end of the corridor when Barstow pulled up short. He narrowly escaped crashing into a man wearing a long, white robe who'd just stepped off the bottom stair.

"_Dobré nebe!_" the monk yelped to the heavens above, clearly startled to see the four intruders. He juggled what looked to be a very old and fragile book in his white cotton gloved hands and managed to keep it from dropping to the floor.

_Good heavens is right_, she thought as she shoved her pistol into her waistband at the small of her back. All three men quickly followed her lead. "_Je nám líto!_" she apologized as she shouldered her way between Barstow and Casey to speak with the man. Smiling, she dipped her head and said, "_Omluvte nás. Jen jsme hledali na toaletu_." From the uncertain expression on his face, she was pretty sure he didn't believe her when she told him they were only looking for a bathroom.

Behind them, a door flew open and the librarian who had been punched earlier burst into the hall, his hand on the side of his jaw. When he caught sight of Chuck, his face turned thunderous with rage. Pointing directly at him, the librarian screamed with such fury and passion, little bits of spittle flew from his lips.

"Holy crap!" Chuck yelped. Sarah turned and looked at her husband over her shoulder. His eyes were wide when he looked at her and said, "I think we'd better run."

Barstow moved around Sarah, put his hand against the cleric's chest and gave him a shove. The monk stumbled backward, catching himself against the wall to keep from falling to the floor. "Sorry, Father," Barstow shouted as he charged past him and started up the steps. "Brother. Padre."

"Whatever! Shut up and move!" Casey barked, giving Barstow a push from behind.

Sarah reached back, grabbed the front of Chuck's shirt and yanked, slinging him past her so that she was between him and the vengeful librarian. Taking the steps two at a time, they bounded up the stairs and hurdled over the rope barrier at the top. At their abrupt appearance, the heads of every visitor of the library snapped their direction and swiveled as they watched the four run down the book-lined corridor.

Sarah could still hear the librarian yelling at them as he approached the top of the stairs. They reached the end of the corridor, pivoted to the right and went for the exit. Sarah was the last through the door and almost knocked over a young woman in a novice's habit. _Why am I always running through abbeys?_

Bursting into the courtyard, she blinked when the bright sunlight assaulted her eyes. Ignoring the stares, the escaping quartet ran across a patch of grass and turned left at the monastery's brewery. The smells coming from the brewery's restaurant reminded her how hungry she was. _Later_. Sprinting down the cobblestone lane, she caught up to Chuck and ran next to him. In between breaths, she said, "I hope we don't have to run all the way back to the apartment."

"No," he said, panting. "We're almost to the van."

She nearly shouted for joy that there was a van. Daring to look over her shoulder, she saw that the angry man had stopped running after them. Instead, he stood at the edge of the patch of grass, shook his fist violently and continued to shout at them. Even so, they didn't let up and raced for the van. Once it was in sight, Barstow sprinted around to the driver's side, unlocked the doors and jumped into the seat. Casey whipped open the front passenger door and climbed in while Chuck grabbed the handle and threw open the back door. Sarah shot past him and clambered into the back seat. Chuck hopped in behind her and slammed the door as Barstow turned over the ignition and brought the engine to life. The agent backed up the van, cranked the wheel and slammed it into gear. The vehicle went down the ramp, slowing only long enough to yield to traffic before it rocketed out into the street.

"I won't be taking a direct route back to the apartment building just to make sure we're not followed," Barstow said, wiping sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "Vegas'll keep us from getting lost."

Heart pounding, Sarah craned around to look out the back window, taking mental note of the cars behind them. No one had followed them from the monastery and there didn't seem to be anyone following them now.

She turned forward again to find Chuck holding out a large bottle of water to her and tapping Casey on the arm with a second. With a tiny smile, she took the bottle from him and said, "You think of everything." She unscrewed the cap and lifted the top to her lips. Tipping her head back, she gulped down the water greedily. The cool water felt heavenly as it slid down her parched throat, washing away the dryness and dust that lined it. Every cell in the body seemed to rejoice at the hydration. She finally lowered the bottle after draining half of it.

Barstow eased off the accelerator and began to drive at a more normal speed. Sarah noticed his eyes flick up to the rearview every few seconds.

Chuck removed the earpiece from his ear and stuck it in his pocket. Then he reached over and took her free hand in his. His eyes were filled with concern when they searched hers. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

Squeezing his hand in reassurance, she shook her head. "No. We were just tied to the chairs the whole time." She raised the bottle to her lips and took several more pulls of water. As if toasting him, she held the bottle aloft and said, "We haven't had anything to eat or drink since before we went to the pub, so this is wonderful. I was bone dry. Thank you."

Casey guzzled three quarters of his water and then expelled a mighty burp.

"Curtis would be proud," Chuck deadpanned.

Suddenly, Sarah sat up ramrod straight, her eyes wide and questioning. "The kids! How are the kids? They must be worried sick."

"They're fine." From his pocket, he took his phone and typed at it. "I'm gonna let them know we found you safe and sound. And yeah, they're worried, but you'd be proud of them. They've been really strong."

Her heart warmed. "I'm always proud of them." Relaxing back into her seat, she narrowed her eyes at him but didn't let go of his hand. "And what about you, Chuck? What are you doing wearing a bulletproof vest and going on a rescue mission." There was a mildly dangerous tone to her voice.

His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed nervously and from the corner of her eye, she caught Barstow flinch. "There was no one else," he started. "Scott had to have backup."

An eyebrow arched. "What about Agent Vegas?"

"He needed to stay to protect the kids and run comms back at the apartment. And I was with Barstow, so technically, I was under his protection the whole time, too." He gave her a hopeful look and bounced his eyebrows at her a couple of times.

"I can assure you, ma'am, that your husband is excellent backup," Barstow said, craning his neck a bit to catch her eyes in the rearview mirror before he used it to look out the back window. "He never did anything foolish and always followed my directions."

The way Chuck's thumb rubbed the back of her hand made it hard for her to not become distracted. Her voice softened somewhat when she asked, "Then why was there an angry librarian chasing us all the way out of the monastery?"

Chuck's eyebrows shot up. "Well, ah, you see he, erm, caught us when we were walking down the hall to come find you. We were really close to you, you know? I had to get to you." His eyes took on a sudden intensity. In them, she saw both defiance and determination. "I wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that. So when he saw us he got kinda excited and loud and started yelling so I sort of had to, um," he dropped his gaze to their entwined hands, "punch him in the jaw."

Her mouth dropped open. "What?" she asked with a mixture of disbelief and astonishment.

"I punched him," he repeated. She heard no shame or regret in his voice. The resolve in his eyes remained when he raised them to meet hers. "He might have stopped us from getting to you. I wasn't gonna let that happen."

"Way to go, Bartowski," Casey said in a grunt of approval. "There's hope for you yet."

Barstow checked the rearview mirror again. "The guy kinda had it coming," he said, spinning the steering wheel to make a right-hand turn. "Crazy librarian," he muttered.

Chuck's features softened when he gazed into her face. "I know you'd have done the same for me if things were reversed."

"Are you kidding?" Casey snorted. "He's lucky it was just you, a big nerd, who punched him. She would have pounded the guy's head into a wall if he got between her and you." Barstow cocked his head toward the major and gave him a small nod.

Her chest tightened at the very thought of Chuck being taken. Again. In their young marriage, she had already felt the anguish of him being stolen from her when the Fulcrum mole kidnapped him and put a bomb under his chair. Casey was right. She would have no tolerance for someone getting in her way if she was trying to get to her husband. Looking Chuck squarely in the eye, she said, "I would have done anything if it were reversed."

She watched the muscles in his jaw clench once and then relax. With a tiny nod, he said, "And that's why I'm wearing this bulletproof vest. I did what I had to do."

Her throat constricted but she was still able to whisper, "I know. Thank you." For the first time since he was there in front of her in the basement when she woke up, she finally had a chance to study him. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face was ashen with fatigue. Reaching out, she rested her hand on his cheek and rubbed her fingers over his unshaven face. "Have you slept?"

He raised a shoulder and let it drop. "A couple of hours." His chuckle was humorless. "I found out I don't sleep very well without you next to me."

She ignored the groan from her partner and gave Chuck a tender smile. "Me, too. We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen again, okay?"

His smile reached his tired eyes. "Okay."

"You haven't eaten either, have you?"

He shook his head slowly and his smile went adorably lopsided.

Cutting him a sly look, she said, "Uh-huh. I thought so." Her hand dropped from his face onto the hand that held hers. Her stomach rumbled, sounding like a growling lion. Leaning forward in her seat, she said to Barstow, "I think we could all use something to eat." She grimaced when the van bounced over a rough patch in the road. "I think Casey and I could use a pit stop, too."

"Already on it, ma'am. I've been checking and we're not being followed, so Vegas has been directing us toward the closest McDonald's." He paused and listened to his headset. "He's advised me that we're almost there."

She leaned back and blew out a breath. McDonald's couldn't come soon enough. Turning her attention back to Chuck, she asked, "How did you find us?"

"I'll let Megan tell that part of the story."

"Megan! How does she fit into…" Noticing his "you're-never-going-to-believe-it" trace of a smile, she knew it was going to be quite a tale. "I should have known our little superspy would figure into this somehow."

All other questions would have to wait when Barstow pulled the van over and stopped in front of the McDonald's. The engine hadn't even been switched off before Casey threw his door open and jumped out. Likewise, Sarah climbed over Chuck, slid the door back and leapt out onto the sidewalk. As they both made for the front door of the restaurant, Sarah prayed to the bathroom gods that it wouldn't be too busy and in working order. She nearly burst into joyous song when her prayers were answered, finding an open stall that worked.

Once her business was complete, she opened the ladies room door to find Chuck, Casey and Barstow leaning against the wall. "Better?" Chuck asked with a grin.

"You have no idea," she answered, shaking her head.

"I'm disappointed, Sarah," Chuck said. His voice was somber but his eyes twinkled with amusement. "James Bond never has to go to the bathroom."

"He does too, and so did Princess Leia when she was chained to Jabba the Hutt." His eyes nearly crossed when he did a full body jerk. She stood in front of her husband and dropped her voice. "You're thinking about me dressed in that outfit now, aren't you?"

Casey grunted in disgust, pushed away from the wall and stalked toward the food counter. Barstow's face reddened and he fell in step behind the major, mumbling something about being hungry.

"Little bit," Chuck said with a grin. His hand took hers and they joined the two men at the counter. Ten minutes later, they were sitting in a booth, downing scrambled eggs, pancakes, hash browns and coffee like they hadn't eaten in a week. Conversation was intermittent and came in bursts between bites of food, the majority of which was Chuck telling Sarah of his and Barstow's mission of following her phone's signal to the Bubny railway yard.

Her hunger finally sated, she relaxed against the back of the booth and sipped her coffee. Watching Casey wolf down his third plate of pancakes, she said, "I can't believe Graham signed off on any of this." Her gaze drifted to Barstow when she noticed he kept his eyes riveted to his scrambled eggs.

Chuck downed the last of his orange juice and tossed the plastic cup on the tray. "I, um, didn't really give him much choice."

"How's that?" she asked, her brows pulling together.

"Well, when Scott and I went to Bubny, we didn't know exactly what was going on. We thought maybe the meeting with Mr. X had moved, but since you weren't answering your phone, we felt like we needed to find you. There wasn't really a need to check in with Graham at that point. Vegas called him as soon as we knew everything had gone pear-shaped."

"What did you say to him so you didn't end up in protective custody?" At his raised eyebrows, she said, "Yes, Chuck, I know the protocols."

"We convinced him that my computer and analytical skills were important to finding you and Casey. Sticking me at the embassy would hamper my access to certain… sources of information. And as it turns out, my computer skills came in handy." He cut off her question by saying, "We'll tell you all about it when we get back to the apartments. The main thing is, there was no way I was leaving Prague without you."

"What about the kids?"

"They weren't going anywhere without you either."

A tiny smile formed. She could imagine the determined looks on their faces. "So that's it? He took 'no' for an answer?"

Chuck cleared his throat and glanced at Barstow. "Vegas hinted to Graham that I might rethink my position with the Agency if he kept me from helping find you."

"Blackmail," she said, eyeing him.

"Incentive," he countered with a wink. "And I had another argument ready if that didn't work."

"Oh?"

A twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Yeah, straightforward revolt. Look, it'd probably take both Scott and Lars to get me to the embassy and then on a plane. That would leave the kids free and as I just said, they weren't going anywhere without you. With the skills you've been teaching them, Graham would have had to send over seven more agents as escorts for each one."

"Two for Miss Megan," Scott interjected, still staring at his eggs. "She's extra sneaky," he clarified when hearing the silence that met his statement.

Chuck smirked. "And one for Morgan. He seems pretty attached to the major, here." Casey responded to this observation with a grunt and a sour look shot Chuck's way. "So that makes eleven agents. Graham would have to send the entire Washington bureau just to get us to the airport."

"You're ridiculous," his wife said, tempering her words by bumping him with her shoulder. Her beaming face told him his little spiel had done its job and defused her displeasure.

"And there goes my appetite," Casey said. He took a slug of coffee and put a fist to his chest. "One of these times, you two really are going to make me puke."

"Looking forward to it, big man," Chuck said with a genuine grin. "I'm just glad you're here."

Casey leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Thanks for standing up to Graham and coming for us. All of you. It took guts."

Sarah nodded. "It did. And Barstow? Scott?"

The agent finally dared to raise his eyes up from his plate and looked into her face. She saw both apprehension and anticipation in them. "I feel like I should be angry with you for putting Chuck in a dangerous situation like the one he was in today. I just can't." Under the table, she slipped her hand into Chuck's. "Thank you for keeping him safe."

Barstow heaved a relieved breath. "You're welcome, Agent Walker. I know it would mean a lot to Agent Vegas if you told him that, too."

"I will."

"Like I said before," Barstow added, "Agent Carmichael, here, was an excellent back up. He's been trained well."

"I had an excellent teacher." Chuck lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it while she bestowed on him a radiant smile.

Revulsion twisted Casey's face and his voice was grumpy when he said, "Now I really am gonna hurl." He slid out of the booth and picked up his tray. "Let's get out of here. I need a shower."

Following Casey's lead, Chuck stood from the booth and took his and Sarah's trays. "And I know seven kids who can't wait to see the two of you. Let's go."

~ O ~

Chuck, Casey and Sarah had barely walked through the door of the apartment when the seven kids streaked at them like heat seeking missiles. They shouted over each other, calling their names and nearly tackled Sarah to the floor in a group hug. Once released, she hugged and kissed the cheeks of each of her nieces and nephews in turn. Smiles were mixed with tears of relief, although some of the kids had more tears than others. Casey awkwardly returned the hugs given him, but handled the high-fives with aplomb.

Sarah held Megan's hand with one of hers and dropped her other arm across Fred's shoulders as they walked toward the couch, the rest of the kids trailing behind. Once she was settled on the couch, Megan took her place on her aunt's lap while Martie sat on the armrest of Casey's chair. The rest of the kids found places next to her on the couch or on the floor. Chuck—having received his own share of hugs when they returned—sank down in the other free chair. Sarah glanced over at him. Obviously relieved to have his family reunited, he was smiling, and when she saw his moist eyes shining, it caused tears to prickle at the back of her own.

After fielding the kids' questions—no, she wasn't particularly scared, and yes, she missed them terribly—Sarah finally got to ask the one she'd wondered about in the van. "How did you find us?" She dipped her head to look into her niece's face. "I hear you were involved in it somehow."

Megan's gaze slid to Chuck. He raised his eyebrows at her, offering her no escape or absolution. Nervously fingering the hem of her shirt, Megan turned, cast a fearful glance at Casey's direction and then pinned her stare on her shoes. Her tremulous voice was barely above a whisper. "I took one of the trackers from Uncle Casey's bag without asking and when I was playing with it, I lost it."

Casey frowned. "You took one of my trackers?" he rumbled, fixing his eyes on her. Martie stilled like a frightened rabbit.

Sarah felt Megan flinch. "It was the day you asked me to look through the bag of gadgets to find the poker cards. I'm sorry, Uncle Casey," she whispered, two fat tears coursing down her cheeks. "I should have asked you if it was okay."

"Those trackers are government property," Casey said, his eyes flashing. "You shouldn't have—"

When Megan began to tremble, Sarah shot him a pointed glare, cutting him off.

The way the color drained from the little girl's face seemed to blunt his anger. His frown fading, he cleared his throat and mumbled, "It's okay, Megan."

"No, it's not," Chuck replied. "She made a bad choice and will face the consequences."

Sarah looked from Casey to Chuck. "I still don't see how her taking a tracker has anything to do with finding us."

Megan swallowed hard and peeked up at her aunt. "I was playing with it the day Martie and I stayed with you when Bridget was sick."

She thought back. "I remember. Dani was in a tower… Wait a second. You were using my boots as landspeeders." Lifting her feet from the floor, she stared at them wide-eyed. "You lost the tracker in one of my boots, didn't you?"

The nod was nearly imperceptible as was the shoulder raise.

She slid Megan from her lap to sit next to her. Reaching down, Sarah slipped off her right boot and stuck her hand inside. She ran her fingers along the insole and the leather upper, but didn't feel anything unusual. Dropping it to the floor, she pulled off the other and performed the same inspection. There was nothing on the insole, but then her fingers felt something smooth and flat wedged between the outer edge of the insole and the leather. Pinching it between her thumb and forefinger, she dislodged the item, removed it from the shoe and held it up for all to see. The tracker was a one-by-one centimeter square sticker, its thickness little more than a piece of cardstock. "No wonder I never felt it. It's so small. My compliments to the NSA."

Casey nodded. "Yeah, the agency wonks just came out with it. The chip embedded in that thing is only a couple of millimeters."

Sarah held the tracking device out for Megan to take. "It's time for you to return this to Uncle Casey." Her niece took it from her, but before Megan could slide off the couch, Sarah put a finger under the little girl's chin and tipped her face up toward her own. Sarah stared into the wide blue eyes that were puddled with tears and filled with remorse. Megan gulped when Sarah's eyebrow cocked. "We all know how much you like to play spy, but that little thing you're holding is real, advanced government technology. What if it was something that we were trying to keep away from the bad guys and they found it in my boot?" Somehow, Megan's eyes grew wider when the gravity of what she had done hit her. More tears spilled down her face. "You are to _never_ touch or take any spy gear, gadgets or equipment again without permission from Uncle Casey or me first." Sarah dipped her chin and looked into Megan's face with intensity. In a firm tone she asked, "Do you understand?"

Lower lip quivering, Megan bobbed her head somberly while the tears flowed freely.

"Now you need to go give that back to Uncle Casey," Sarah directed.

It was clear that Megan dreaded what she had to do. With great trepidation, she turned and slowly approached Casey, as if he were a stalking panther ready to pounce. When she finally came near enough, she held out the tracker to him and said, "I'll never take any of your spy things ever again."

Now it was Casey's turn to look uncomfortable. "Uh, roger. Thanks," he replied, taking the tracker from her.

She turned and scurried back toward the safety of her aunt. However, before she had a chance to climb back onto the couch, Chuck cleared his throat, pointed his index finger at her and then curled it for her to come to him. Knowing what was coming, her shoulders slumped dramatically and she dragged herself toward him like a convict approaching a judge.

Sarah glanced around at the other faces in the room. While Martie was clearly concerned about her sister—she looked almost as concerned about what was to come as her sister did—the older kids watched with amusement and fascination. The look on Curtis' face was one of "I'm just glad it's not me this time."

Head bowed, Megan stood before Chuck. He leaned forward, put his hands on her waist and gently moved her forward so that his knees were on either side of her. "You know what happens now." His voice was quiet but firm.

"I have to be punished," came her murmured response. The tension in the room was palpable as they all watched and waited.

"Mm-hmm. It's a serious thing you did, Megan." Turning his attention to his wife, he said, "I was thinking a week without Spy Barbie and her friends would be an appropriate punishment." While Sarah was able to keep back a gasp, several of the other kids weren't as successful. A crestfallen Megan turned and gazed at her with sad eyes. "However," he added, snapping everyone's attention back to him, "don't you think that since she helped find you and Casey that we could commute part of her sentence?"

Curtis leaned toward Lizzie and whispered loudly, "What does that mean?"

"It means to lessen her punishment," his sister responded in a low voice.

When the rest of the kids heard Lizzie's clarification, the tension rushed from the room like air gusting from a balloon. Smiles returned and faces relaxed. "That seems fair," Sarah answered. "Maybe half? Do you think maybe three days?" Her faint quirk of an eyebrow was returned by Chuck's tiny wink.

"Her offense was against Uncle Casey. I think he needs to sign off on her punishment. What do you think?" Chuck asked, his gaze drifting from Sarah to her partner.

All heads turned toward the major. The big man shifted in his seat, clearly not enjoying being in the "parenting" spotlight. "It's okay with me."

"It's settled then," Chuck said. He leaned forward, gathered Megan in his arms and kissed her cheek. "I love you, kiddo."

She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek in return. "I love you, too, Uncle Chuck. I'll miss Spy Barbie, but three days without her is better than a whole week!"

"You bet it is," Chuck answered. Releasing her, he said, "Now go give Uncle Casey a hug."

"That's not really—" Casey started but was interrupted by an inbound Megan. She had obviously overcome her earlier fear and now launched herself at him. Hugging him around the neck, she kissed his cheek and said, "I love you, Uncle Casey."

Casey's whole body relaxed as he patted her back. "Love you, too," he replied gruffly.

Now that she had received her sentence and reconciliations had been made, Megan hurried back to her place on the couch next to Sarah.

"Don't you think it would be a good idea to have Uncle Casey hold on to Megan's Barbies, since she took his stuff?" Lisa asked. From her seat on the floor next to his chair, she twisted around to grin at him like the Cheshire Cat. "It only seems fair."

"You just hope security at the train station goes through my duffle bag and finds them."

"I do!" She levered up onto her knees and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you're here for me to tease."

One corner of his mouth pulled up. "Yeah, me too, kid." Any chance for further sentimentality was quashed when there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it," Casey said, grunting as he rose from the chair. "I'm gonna go downstairs and take a shower anyway." The group watched him cross the room and open the door, only to have Morgan fling himself at the big man and wrap his arms around Casey's middle in a fierce hug.

"You're okay!" Morgan cried, one side of his face pressed against Casey's chest.

Casey stood tall while his arms hung limply at his sides. His face contorted as if he were inhaling the acrid smell of burning tires and stared straight ahead. "Why are you touching me?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone. He gaze dropped to the top of Morgan's head and looked at him like the little guy was a leech that had attached itself to him.

The room exploded in laughter when Morgan's eyes bulged in realization of his egregious offense. He released Casey and stumbled backward, seemingly aware that he had been embracing an angry grizzly bear in human form.

Deciding to intervene on Morgan's behalf, Sarah stood and said, "You can give me a hug hello." Morgan seemed to appreciate the lifeline and hurried over to her.

"Man, Sarah, it's a good thing you're back. Chuck here was going _crazy_ without you."

Sighing, she moved to stand behind where her husband sat, bent forward, circled her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "I know."

Casey snorted, his hand resting on the doorknob. "She wasn't any better. Talk about crazy. She actually started singing at one point."

Chuck turned his head slightly and cut his eyes toward her. "Singing?"

She pecked his cheek again and said, "Never mind." Straightening, she frowned at Casey who rolled his eyes at her.

Morgan sat next to Megan in the spot Sarah had vacated on the couch, bit at his thumbnail nervously and flicked his gaze toward Chuck.

Chuck crossed one long leg over the other. "Something on your mind, buddy?"

Morgan cleared his throat and moved behind Megan as if using her as a human shield between himself and Chuck. "I hate to bring this up, but there's a tournament we're supposed to be at in less than two hours."

Chuck groaned and dropped his head back against the top of the chair. "I'm sorry, Morgan. With everything going on in the last twenty-four hours, I completely forgot." He looked up at Sarah who still stood behind him. "What do you think?"

The idea of going out to play in a video game tournament didn't appeal to her at all after what she'd just endured in the previous eighteen hours. She managed not to grimace, but her lack of enthusiasm was evident when she said, "Well, I suppose we have to go since the Buy More is paying for this trip. We really owe them being there."

Lizzie spoke up. "I'm up for going." Her brothers and sisters chimed in their willingness to play in the tournament, too. Addressing her uncle and aunt, neither of whom showed any eagerness, said, "How about we go and you two stay here."

Chuck lifted his head. "Who'd be on the team? Casey probably wants to take it easy after yesterday and last night."

Casey, still standing at the door, said, "I'm good to go. They kept shooting us with those da— darn tranquilizer darts, so I got some sleep. Taking out some bad guys sounds good to me."

"Okay, so that's the five of us kids and Uncle Casey. That six," Lizzie said. Her blue eyes gleamed as she swung her feet behind her and stood on her knees. "Uncle Morgan and Agent Barstow can fill in like they did in Berlin when Aunt Sarah was with Bridget when she was sick. That's eight! A whole team."

"Are you sure Barstow's not too tired? He was up half the night. And Vegas, too. He'd have to go along as well," Chuck said.

"Nah, they're used to crazy hours and hardly any sleep," Casey said.

A smile twitched at Sarah's lips. "And I have intel from a reliable source who says Barstow doesn't need a lot of sleep." That comment garnered some curious stares, but she didn't meet them, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the top of Chuck's head.

"We can go to the tournament?" Morgan asked, glancing hopefully Chuck and Sarah's direction.

Chuck twisted in his chair to face Sarah. After a quick conversation that consisted of shrugs, raised eyebrows and nods, approval was given.

There was a short cheer. "I'll make sure the two knuckleheads are ready. Come on, soldiers. Let's move," Casey barked.

Fred and Curtis grinned, scrambled to their feet and hurdled over furniture and their sisters to get to the major. Skidding to a stop, Fred saluted Casey and said, "Knucklehead One, reporting for duty, sir."

Curtis, unable to stop quickly enough, crashed into his brother. Steadying himself, he saluted as well and intoned, "Sir, Knucklehead Two, ready for action, sir."

Enjoying their antics, Sarah chuckled quietly as her heart filled with love and affection for her wonderful and exuberant boys.

Casey stretched to his full height, gazed down at the two boys and returned their salutes with a sharp snap of his hand. "Good men," he said, his voice filled with pride. Opening the door, he ordered, "Let's roll." The boys good-naturedly pushed and shoved each other to trying to get through the doorway first. They tumbled into the hall, righted themselves and stood panting and grinning at the major. Before Casey moved into the hall, he glanced over at Morgan who wore an expectant look on his face. Rolling his eyes, the big man growled, "Come on, Grimes."

Morgan shot from his seat, sprinted past the major and out the door. Wordlessly, Casey shook his head in mild exasperation, stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

The boys now gone, Sarah turned her attention back toward the living room.

"What about me and Martie?" Megan asked. "Do we stay here with Uncle Chuck and Aunt Sarah?"

"Nope," Lizzie said, standing and holding her hand out toward her littlest sister. "You should come with us. We missed you cheering for us last time."

Bouncing up from her seat, Megan grinned and grabbed her sister's hand. "You did?"

"Mm-hmm." Lizzie suddenly glanced apologetically over to Chuck and Sarah. "They can go with us if it's okay with you, of course. I promise to keep them with me."

"I'll watch them, too," Lisa said, poking her finger into Martie's belly, eliciting a squeal of giggles from her.

"And I'm sure you two could use some time alone," Lizzie said, keeping her tone light.

It was true. Sarah did need some time alone with Chuck, although not necessarily for the same reason Lizzie was assuming. She had to tell him everything she'd learned about his parents before her debrief with Graham. Having the two youngest at the tournament would allow them to have that time together. "It's okay with me," she said.

"Me, too," Chuck agreed.

Martie took Lisa's hand and followed their sisters toward the bedrooms to change their clothes. "Grownups sure like to be alone together a lot," Martie mused as she looked up at her sister. "What do they do all the time when they're alone?"

"They play board games," came Lisa's quick reply.

"Oh," Martie said. The last thing Sarah heard before the girls disappeared into the bedrooms was a confused Martie's, "Wait, huh?"

Chuck leaned his head back on the top of the chair, his adorable upside down grin beaming up at her. "So, Mrs. Bartowski, during our alone time, do we play Monopoly, Battleship or Scrabble?"

"None of the above."

His grin never faded nor did his eyes leave hers. "You're no fun." After a beat, he said, "Hey! Spider-Man kiss?"

An eyebrow arched over lowered lashes.

"Well, a modified Spider-Man kiss, since neither of us are technically hanging upside down." He wiggled his eyebrows at her for good measure. "I _did_ save you today. I just didn't do it slinging webs."

Her hair tumbled down around them when she bent forward, rested her hands on the sides of his face and pressed her lips to his. It was a little odd at first, chins and noses peculiarly placed. Once they tipped their heads at the right angle, it didn't take long for the kiss to turn steamy and exciting. When she broke the kiss, her face still hovering over his, she brushed her thumbs lightly across his lips. "Thank you for saving me," she whispered. "You're more amazing than Spider-Man."

"You're welcome." His smile grew under her thumbs. "I'm thinking about getting a superhero suit now."

Her head barely moved when she shook it while her eyes sparkled with humor. "You're a pretty tall guy. That's a lot of Spandex." His response died on his lips when she kissed him again. In no time, they both forgot what they had been talking about.

~ O ~

Arms tucked around each other's waists, Chuck and Sarah entered the empty apartment having just seen everyone off at the front of the building for their short van ride to the Buy More on Wenceslas Square. The original plan had been for them to walk the kilometer, but given recent events, they decided lessen the kids' exposure and piled them into the van instead.

Once the door was closed and securely locked behind them, they embraced. They stood with their bodies pressed against each, other simply holding on.

"When you were gone, my arms literally ached to hold you," he whispered.

Swallowing hard, she squeezed him tight. "I felt the same thing, too."

Neither was willing to release the other, so they remained there in the safety of each other's arms. As they stood there, Sarah could actually feel the last of Chuck's energy drain away. Drawing back, she searched his face. The pallor she had seen there before—which had vanished for a time after they had eaten—had returned. The eyes that were always so warm and full of humor were now dull with fatigue. She knew exactly what he was feeling. He was suffering from the post-mission adrenaline crash on top of his tiredness due to getting very little sleep the night before. She wanted, no, she needed to tell him everything that had happened, but she wasn't about to do so in his current state of exhaustion. She knew Graham was waiting for her report, but there was no way in hell she was going to speak a word of Chuck's parents' deaths to anyone else before she told her husband. If that meant the director had to be put off for a little while, so be it. Vegas had informed the director of her and Casey's rescue earlier in the day, so she knew she had a little time before he started to grow too impatient. She was certain, though, that she couldn't put him off until tomorrow.

Resting a hand on his chest, she said, "Chuck, you're exhausted. You need to rest."

He wagged his head. "No, I'm okay. I want to hear everything that happened."

She considered him for a moment, her mind whirring as she worked out a plan to get him to sleep. A couple of different ideas came to mind. If the first way didn't work, she could always use the "nuclear option." Heaving a sigh as if giving in, she first gave him a chaste peck on the lips, took his hand and led him toward the couch. "Okay. I'll tell you everything, but you have to let me start at the beginning."

"Good," he answered. "I want to know it all. I can sleep later."

"Mm-hmm." She sat at the end of the couch, kicked off her boots and rested her feet on the coffee table. He sat down next to her, but when she smiled and patted her thighs he grinned and happily complied by swinging his legs up onto the couch, lying down on his back and resting his head on her lap. While he was too tall to fit on the couch, he seemed perfectly content with his feet crossed and hanging off the end and his fingers laced together, hands resting on his belly.

Sarah immediately realized that even if her plans to get him to sleep didn't work, she was more than happy to spend the rest of the afternoon the way they were just then. Lowering her gaze to meet his, she smiled. "Comfortable?"

He beamed up at her, his face filled with expectation. "Mm-hmm."

Resting a forearm on his chest, she said nothing for a moment while she lazily rubbed her fingertips back and forth over the stubble on his cheek. She could feel his head growing heavier on her lap as his breathing grew deeper. With a soft voice, she started. "Casey was already in position at the George and Dragon when I arrived at Caffrey's. I went into the bar, bought the drink I was told to get and sat down at one of the outside tables."

"I saw that on the video feed I hacked into."

With a tender smile, she chuckled quietly and said, "Of course you did." Her fingers stilled, her thumb now taking over as it lightly ran along his jaw and chin. "Shhhh. No more interruptions," she admonished gently.

He pressed his lips together and nodded. Dipping her head in response, she continued. "All of the sudden, I felt this pain in my arm."

His lips turned down in a frown and his eyebrows pulled together. Even so, he remained silent as she traced her thumb along his jawline. "My eyelids started to get really heavy." Drawing out the syllables of her words, her tone was soft and soothing. "So heavy, I could barely keep them open." Her voice took on a quiet, singsong quality. "Everything went blurry." She could see Chuck's eyes begin to lose focus. "The pull to close my eyes was too strong."

He blinked a couple of times, his eyes drifting away from her face.

"I couldn't fight it anymore." Her thumb continued to rhythmically graze his face while she watched his eyelids flutter and then remain closed. "My eyes closed and everything went dark," she whispered. She barely dared to breath as she watched his furrowed brow relax and his face grow slack. When she was sure he was finally in a deep sleep, she murmured the end of her story. "And then a superhero saved me and we all lived happily ever after."


	34. Never Let You Go Again

**A/N:** You guys are awesome. You've completely blown me away with your continued enthusiasm for this story. The fantastic response to the last couple of chapters has been particularly gratifying to me. Thank you so much.

As always, thank you to **AgentInWaiting**. Once again, well done sir.

**Chapter 34 – Never Let You Go Again**

Sarah's hand lay on Chuck's chest as he napped, his head resting on her lap. She loved feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he slumbered. With everyone except the two of them at the Buy More _Call of Duty_ tournament, the apartment was quiet and peaceful. It was exactly what they both needed after her and Casey's kidnapping the afternoon before, their captivity by Blond Russian Guy in the basement of the library of the _Strahovský klášter_ and their subsequent rescue that morning by Chuck and Barstow. Given everything she'd been through, she thought she would have fallen asleep by now, too. Much like Casey, though, the hours of tranquilizer induced sleep had left her much less exhausted than Chuck, who had slept less than anyone else. So while she was more than happy to be "trapped" by her husband using her as his pillow and had enjoyed watching him sleep for the past fifteen minutes, she was growing bored. She'd had her fill of staring at the walls during her stint cable tied to a chair and needed something else to occupy her time. She didn't dare get up knowing it would probably wake him, so her options were down to whatever she could reach on the coffee table. She spied the television remote, but decided against watching TV, not wanting the noise to wake him. Her eyes zeroed in on the item next to the remote. That's what she really wanted: her phone.

It was tantalizingly near, just beyond her feet propped up on the table, but far enough away that she couldn't reach it with an outstretched hand. She shifted her hips slightly, stretched one foot out and managed to get a toe on the phone. Biting her lips together, she held her position and glanced down. Chuck's head had moved a little, but he remained sound asleep. Holding her breath, she slowly slid the phone across the table with her foot. It fell off the edge and onto the rug and still using her foot, she slid it closer. When she bent forward to pick it up off the floor, she grinned thinking of what Chuck would see looming before his face if he woke up at that exact moment. Securing the phone in her hand, she leaned back and decided she'd have to share that little gem with him later. She could already picture his grin.

Her phone kept her blissfully occupied for the next hour as Chuck continued his nap. After checking the GPS app and seeing multiple dots on the map indicating the kids were all at the Buy More on Wenceslas Square, she texted Lizzie to get a status update. Ten minutes after she'd sent the first text, she received a response from her niece telling her they'd just won their first round match. During their conversation, Lizzie informed her that there were several very attractive guys on a team from Poland, one of which had "intense, blue eyes." Lizzie also informed her that both Fred and Barstow kept checking their phones for texts from their respective female friends, Megan was still on her best behavior and during their first round match, Casey was a one man wrecking machine. Sarah chuckled to herself. Apparently her partner had some pent up frustration he needed to work off.

Between texts, Sarah checked her voicemail and heard the many messages Chuck had left for her the day before. As she listened, she looked into the face of her sleeping husband and gently brushed her fingers through his hair. It broke her heart to hear his voice grow more and more concerned with each successive message he left. She knew all too well the rising panic he felt not knowing her whereabouts and condition. She'd felt it herself when Shaw had stolen him from her. And despite it all and in true Chuck Bartowski fashion, he risked himself—his own life and safety—to rescue her.

Sighing, she tore her gaze away from his face and returned her attention to the phone. She noticed that a call to Harry Chalmers had been made during the time she'd been stuck in the basement. Chuck had to have been the one who made the call since he was the only person who knew her phone's passcode. It made sense that Chuck would have called Harry for help since he was the one who connected her with Blond Russian Guy in the first place. How Blond Russian Guy and the basement of the library at _Strahovský klášter_ were connected, she couldn't even begin to fathom. She wondered if they would ever find out. Probably not. She assumed Chuck told Harry about her abduction during their call. She couldn't think of a conversation between those two men where it wouldn't have been revealed.

She stared at her phone, trying to decide if she should send Harry a text or call him after Chuck woke up when a shout rent the room's silence. Chuck bolted upright and cried out, "Sarah! Sarah!" The terror in his voice and his startling and sudden movements set off an adrenaline mortar in her chest.

Putting a hand on his back, she felt her own level of dismay rise when she called, "Chuck! I'm right here! Chuck!"

Clearly disoriented, he twisted to face her, his uncomprehending eyes staring through her. "I can't find Sarah!" The panic in his voice made her blood run cold. The only time she'd felt as frightened was when she found him sitting atop a bomb.

Frantic fingers clutched his arm. "Chuck!" she said again, her voice sharp in hopes of bringing him out of his waking nightmare. "It's okay. I'm right here. You _did_ find me."

Her heart bounced wildly around in her chest as she watched the clouds of fright and confusion in his eyes slowly clear. His staccato breaths slowed and deepened as she felt the quivering muscles in his arm calm. Even though he was fully awake now, the eyes that bored into hers were full of pain. She heard urgency and panic color his words when he said, "I couldn't find you. I kept going from place to place. You were supposed to be there, but every time I got there, you were gone. They took you away."

Scooting closer, she wrapped him in her arms and softly murmured words of consolation. She wanted to say that it was all just a bad dream, but the overall scenario his brain was trying to come to terms with had indeed happened. "It's okay now, sweetie. You really did find me and we're together."

After a moment, her pulse steadied and he heaved a deep sigh obviously trying to collect himself. When they settled back on the couch, Sarah leaned her side into the back of it and pulled her feet up behind her. She slipped one arm around his shoulders and tucked her other hand between his arm and ribcage. Her body was practically draped across his.

He stared down at his hands in his lap as the thumb of one hand absently rubbed the palm of the other. "How do you do it?" he asked. She heard both awe and bewilderment in his voice. "How do you bounce back after what just happened to you?"

Shrugging a shoulder, she answered, "It's part of the job. Unfortunately, stuff like this happens sometimes. I've been through things like this before and I've always come out alright."

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to it. The not knowing if you're okay when you're out on a mission. The danger."

"Maybe I should quit being a spy," she replied simply. It surprised her how easily the comment spilled from her lips.

His head snapped up. "No! It's what you love."

"Yes, but I love you and the kids more. This isn't just about me anymore."

"I don't want you to quit because of me." He shook his head with vigor. "This is my problem, not yours. I knew your job was dangerous when we got married." He sighed. "It's just the first time it's punched me in the gut."

She winced. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Lots of people have spouses with dangerous jobs. I'll just have to learn how to cope."

Chuck having to learn to cope when she was out on missions didn't fill her with warm feelings. "You know, the decision of whether or not I keep being a spy might be easier to make than we think. If I get pregnant, I'd have to stop going on missions anyway and—"

"If?"

Her heart fluttered. "When."

"That's better." A small smile curled on his lips.

"_Anyway_," she continued, returning his smile, "who knows how I'll feel about going back to work after a baby comes? Besides, we just came through a scary ordeal and it would be easy to make decisions based on emotions. I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"You're right. What do we do for right now? Do we keep going on the current mission to find Benoit? Did you find anything out about my parents? I fell asleep before you told me anything about what happened." He narrowed his eyes at her. "That was part of your evil plan, wasn't it?"

Feigning innocence, she said, "Who, me?"

"Yes, you." He fluttered his fingers at her. "You used some kind of superspy ninja hypnosis on me."

"Did not. You were tired." She suppressed a giggle.

"What about how your voice was all soft and you brushing your fingers across my face and stuff?" If he was trying to look indignant, he was failing miserably. She could see he'd loved what she'd done.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice was huffy, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "If you don't like it, I won't do it again."

"Aha! Again! So you admit it."

"Fine. Yes, I admit it. You needed to sleep and I helped you relax enough so you could."

"Thank you," he said and lightly kissed her lips. "And for the record, you can do that to me whenever you want."

"I'll remember that."

"Now that I've had my nap, tell me what happened." He shifted his body and faced her expectantly.

Getting ready to tell her tale, she drew in a deep breath and slowly expelled it. Starting again at the beginning, she told him how she had been tranqed at the pub. When he told her what he had seen on the hacked security feed, she was almost positive that Hulk One and Hulk Two from the basement were the goons who had taken her and Casey from Caffrey's. She would need to examine the security footage later. Continuing her story, she related how she and Casey awoke in a basement, had no idea where they were and spent hours waiting in the dark before Blond Russian Guy finally appeared. Chuck frowned when she told him she had to give him the name Sarah Walker, but understood the need to do so under the circumstances. Her pulse quickened when she realized she'd arrived at the part of the story she dreaded more than anything else.

"Let me guess." Chuck said. "Blond Russian Guy didn't even have any information on my parents, did he?"

It felt like a boot had just kicked her squarely in the chest. "Yeah, actually he did." How could she tell him? There were no words.

The light dimmed in his eyes and a shadow crossed his face at her hesitation. She didn't have to say a word, sure that he read what was coming on her face. "They're dead, aren't they?" he asked, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

She took his hand in both of hers and gazed into his face. "I'm sorry, Chuck."

In that instant, she saw the hurt and confused eleven-year-old boy who couldn't possibly understand why both his parents had left him. It devastated her to see him so wounded. "How? Do you know? Did he tell you?"

Her throat constricted and nearly choked when she tried to swallow. "They were on a boat taking them out to Benoit's yacht." In a whisper, she said, "There was an explosion."

The color drained from his face and his head listed to the side. "Oh God," he murmured.

She put a hand on his arm to steady him and her eyebrows pulled together with worry. "Are you okay?"

He gave her a halting, jerky nod. "When?" The hollowness in his voice sent icy chills through her.

"About five years ago," she said gently. "I'd have to do some research to find out exactly when and where."

"Five years ago," he repeated. "That's almost the same time Ellie and Devon…"

Sarah watched him fight to control his emotions. His eyes were a storm of turmoil and grief. "I've lost them all," he whispered.

He gripped her hand, but that wasn't enough. He reached out for her and fell into her arms. Stroking his head, she wanted to say something to make it better. Everything that came to her was discarded as tired, hollow clichés. She realized there really was nothing she _could_ say to make it better. All she could do was hold him in the lengthening silence and hope her presence was of some small comfort to him.

After a time, he sat back. When she looked into his eyes, she found a deep, profound sadness in them.

"Benoit had them killed," he stated.

"Yes."

"He's probably had lots of people killed, hasn't he?"

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Yes, he has."

"I asked you earlier whether or not we should keep going with the mission to find Benoit. Sarah, I want—"

"Chuck, I know you're worried about my safety, and I know I said earlier that I'd be willing to quit, but I made a commitment to Graham and I can't just bail out on him. Let me finish this. Plus, we only have a couple more cities to go on the tournament tour and—"

"Sarah."

"—if I don't turn anything up, Graham will probably send us home and try something else anyway. I understand that you're concerned that Benoit might come after me, but I told his thugs I was only looking into Frost and Orion's disappearance. If he really thought I was a threat to him, he would have—"

"Sarah, I was going to say I want us to stay after him."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You do?"

"Yes." His sadness had been overtaken by grim determination.

"Chuck, revenge is a terrible motive to—"

"This isn't about revenge. This is about stopping an evil son of a bitch who has destroyed too many lives, too many families, including my own. I don't know why my parents left, but I do know now that they won't be coming back because of him. This is about justice for me and you and our kids who will never know their grandparents. This is about him rotting in prison for the rest of his life. I can't live with myself knowing we had the chance to stop him before he could hurt anyone else and we didn't take it. No. No more."

His impassioned speech surprised her, especially given only moments before the idea of her quitting had been raised. "Okay, Chuck. We'll stay to complete the mission as it was laid out when we started, meaning finishing out the tournaments. Just be prepared that nothing else might turn up. This whole mission to track down Benoit has been one step forward and two steps back."

"I know," he answered, slumping a bit. "But at least we have an answer about my parents. Not the one I wanted, but at least it's something." He shrugged a shoulder. "To be honest, it's like they've been dead for twenty years, anyway. Nothing has changed, really." With a small smile, he added, "I have you and the kids. You're my family." She was glad to see that while the news of his parents' death was naturally upsetting and shocking, it hadn't sent him into a tailspin.

Sarah's phone blinged, alerting her to a text. "That's probably Lizzie. She's been giving me reports on how they're doing in the tournament." Before she reached behind her to grab the phone, she leaned closer and kissed him. "And I think we're a pretty great family." Skimming the text, she announced, "They won the second round and are waiting to play in the finals."

"That's great," Chuck said. "I guess they don't need either of us to play to win." He sounded more relieved than perturbed.

"The way the team has changed for the last couple of tournaments, it certainly is adaptable." With a chuckle, she added, "Lizzie also told me that Casey has been taking out his residual anger over being tranqed and kidnapped on the poor Czech and Polish opponents."

Snorting, Chuck said, "A rampaging Casey? The other teams don't stand a chance."

Sarah texted her and Chuck's congratulations to Lizzie and wished them luck in the finals. She had just finished when "The Imperial March" sounded ominously from her phone. Sighing, she held the phone up for Chuck to see Graham's rather dour countenance on the screen. "I've stalled calling him. I guess he gave up waiting for me. I need to answer this."

"That's fine. I'm sure he'll rip me a new one when he hears what I've been up to. You want to put it on speaker?"

Nodding, she touched the screen and held the phone between them. "Good afternoon, Director. I'm here on speaker with Chuck." She made a face and added, "I was just about to call you."

As if he could see the roll of her eyes, the director replied with a skeptical, "Uh-huh. Be that as it may, it _is_ good to hear your voice, Agent Walker. I'm glad you and Major Casey were found and recovered safe and sound."

"Thank you, sir. It's good to be back," she answered.

"Mr. Bartowski, it sounds like you and Agents Vegas and Barstow have been having quite the adventures," Graham said evenly. Sarah wasn't sure, but had she heard a hint of amusement in his voice? When she saw Chuck's eyes widen with surprise, she knew it wasn't just her hearing it.

"Um, yes, sir," he said, glancing over to Sarah. "I know I'm not a field agent, but there were no other options. My accompanying Agent Barstow on the rescue missions was the only way to get Sarah and Casey back."

They both cringed when they heard a massive sigh sound from the phone's speaker. "Agent Walker, Mr. Bartowski," Graham started, his voice an odd mixture of weariness, humor and defeat, "I have come to the realization that I have absolutely no power, nor have I ever for that matter, over the two of you when it comes to ensuring you are together. Simply put, the rulebook goes out the window. Given that, I have two options. I can either delude myself into thinking I have some semblance of control and continue to take my blood pressure medication and antacids, or I can acknowledge and embrace the fact that I actually don't, and simply trust you. Given your fierce commitment to each other, your demonstrated willingness to do _anything_ to be together, including risking your own safety to save the other, and your track record of doing just that, I have chosen the latter."

Sarah's jaw dropped in shock. This wasn't the reaction she'd expected from him. At all. From the stunned look on Chuck's face, she could tell he was thinking the same thing. Unsure how best to respond to Graham's declarations, she offered a tentative, "Yes, sir."

"However, I would like to remind you that I am still the director of this agency and as such, I expect you to follow my orders when it comes to missions. Well, ones that don't include one of you rescuing the other, that is."

Grinning at each other, Chuck said, "Yes, sir," while Sarah answered at the same time, "Of course, Director."

Graham grunted. "Now that that's settled, let's get down to business. Agent Vegas gave me his report on the events leading up to and including your and Major Casey's recovery." During a pause, Sarah heard the sound of shuffling papers. He cleared his throat and said, "I assume Miss Woodcomb will no longer have access to government technologies? Ones, I'm told, took a significant percentage of the NSA's research budget for the last three years to develop?"

Sarah slapped a hand gently to her forehead and grimaced while a mortified Chuck closed his eyes and scrunched his face. "We've spoken with her, and no, she won't do it again," she replied.

"Good." His voice dropped to a low grumble. "I _still_ think that child somehow lifted that security card from me last year." There was another pause and Sarah heard a drumming sound over the phone. She could picture him tapping his fingers on the files piled on his desk, the way she had seen him do when she had sat across from him during their many briefings. "Now, I want to know what you learned, if anything, from your captors."

Relieved to be moving on, Sarah blew out a silent breath and then said, "They work for Henri Benoit, or at least one of his associates. There were three men. The man I spoke with on the phone originally was the leader and had a slight Russian accent. The other two were muscle and never spoke."

"Did you recognize any of them?"

"No, sir. I didn't."

Chuck spoke up. "I was able to capture images of the faces of the two larger men from the security video feed I acquired from outside Caffrey's Pub when Sarah and Casey were taken. I started running a facial recognition program on them last night, but once we found Sarah and Casey through the trackers, I didn't go back to see if anything turned up. I'll be sure to check on it."

"See that you do."

"Director, did the satellite trained on the monastery show any unusual activity?" Sarah asked.

"No, other than the four of you running through the courtyard. The man chasing you wasn't one of your captors, Agent Walker?"

"Um, no sir." She popped an eyebrow and swept her upturned palm at her husband. "Take it away," she mouthed.

He squinted at her in mock betrayal. "If I may, Director. We believe he was a librarian and was unhappy with our incursion into the restricted area of the library."

"Even from the satellite, we could see he was certainly very angry," Graham said.

"That might have been because I punched him," Chuck said. He flexed his fingers as if remembering the pain.

The director snorted. "That's unexpected news, Mr. Bartowski."

"Like I said before, he wasn't happy with us being where we were." He raised his chin and his voice turned flinty. "He stood between Agent Barstow and me getting to Sarah and Casey. I couldn't allow him to stop us." The resolute look on his face nearly took her breath away.

"Now _that_ doesn't surprise me at all. And thank you for confirming my earlier point," Graham said. After a pause, he asked, "Do you think he was part of the conspiracy?"

Sarah glanced at Chuck who shrugged. "We don't know. We're not even sure anyone from the monastery or library knew we were there," she said.

"The room they were held in was off a locked hallway. The room itself was empty and seemed abandoned," Chuck added. "Plus, there was a door that led to the outside. The kidnappers could have brought them in that way."

"Maybe," Sarah answered thoughtfully. "But it was still light outside when we were brought in. The first time I woke up, I could see daylight through the basement window. And remember, after you found us, we didn't go out that way because it was exposed."

Chuck bounced his head from side to side. "That's true. So we assume there was someone inside the monastery and/or the library who was helping them?"

"Or at least turning a blind eye," Sarah responded.

"I think at this point, we proceed under the assumption that someone was actively helping them," Graham weighed in. "Also, we've encountered an unusual twist to this already rather unusual incident. Ever since we received reports of your abduction, we've been monitoring the Prague police department's communications and transmissions. Just before you and Major Casey were liberated, the police received an anonymous phone call informing them that two people were locked in a room in the Strahov library. Of course, by the time they arrived to investigate, you were gone."

Sarah's eyebrows pulled together. "That's odd. Maybe someone on the premises _did_ find out about us and called the police."

"Or maybe, if there _was_ someone helping them on the inside, that person felt guilty and made the call," Chuck countered.

"Well, either way, neither the librarian you decked or the cleric we ran into during our escape called the police. Both of them were obviously surprised to see us there."

"We can posit all sorts of theories," Graham said, cutting into their crosstalk. "What we need is concrete evidence. Since we don't know the identity of the kidnappers, but do know they are associated with Benoit in some way, I'll have my analysts run background checks on the residents and employees of the monastery and library to see if there is any connection to him or his organization."

Chuck cocked his head. "I have a hard time believing a monk or a nun would be in on a kidnapping."

"I don't," Sarah said with a chuckle. "_I_ was once undercover as a nun, remember?"

Chuck bounced an eyebrow at her. "How could I forget?"

She pressed her lips together and her eyes grew big when she heard Graham awkwardly clear his throat. Chuck wore a lopsided grin and his eyes flashed with delight.

Soldiering on, Graham said, "No one is above suspicion at this point. My money's on a librarian. They can be a dodgy bunch. The librarians the Agency employs can be quite vengeful. Ask Agent Barstow." Sarah's smile faded when she realized that Graham was being serious. "Now, tell me what the Russian had to say."

Sarah's stomach tightened when she saw Chuck flinch. Giving him an apologetic look for having to hear the details again, she said, "I'm sorry to report that Frost and Orion are dead. Benoit had them eliminated."

The silence on the other end of the line stretched longer than she expected it to. "That's a shame," came the quiet response. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Bartowski. For both of you and your children."

The muscles in Chuck's jaw worked and he swallowed hard before answering, "Thank you, sir."

"Agent Walker, I don't need to know the particulars regarding Frost and Orion right now. I'll read them when you file your written report." Papers crinkled at the director's end of the connection. "Was there any other information about Benoit you were able to glean during your interactions with the Russian?"

"No, sir. We only discussed Benoit in connection with Frost and Orion. As far as they're concerned, I was asking about Frost and Orion solely to tie up a bureaucratic loose end. They do know me as Sarah Walker with the CIA, but I made sure there was no connection to me as Sarah Bartowski. They don't know anything about me looking for Benoit." A thought struck her. "It might be wise to ensure that my CIA records have no connection to the name Bartowski at all. Perhaps you could redact everything in my file regarding my mission to Beaver Creek and everything that's followed?"

"I've already taken care of that myself, Agent Walker. Mr. Bartowski's file has no mention of 'Sarah Walker' and I've contacted General Beckman and had her do the same in Major Casey's file."

"Thank you, sir." She shrugged when Chuck gave her a questioning glance. She wasn't sure why the director had taken such a personal interest, but the fewer places the connection between "Walker" and "Bartowski" could be found, the better for Chuck and the kids.

"Very good. The rest of your original mission to track him down is intact with Vienna as your next stop, then?"

"Yes sir. We leave tomorrow morning," Chuck answered.

"That will work out perfectly, then," Graham mused.

Confused, Sarah said, "Sir?"

"I have a mission for you and Mr. Bartowski."

"Wha-, what? Me?" Chuck said, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

"Yes. I received a call from MI-6 yesterday. It seems John Fletcher, the Fulcrum agent Harry Chalmers and Agent Walker apprehended in London two weeks ago, has finally provided intel. When he saw the signed orders turning him over to the U.S. and his one-way ticket to Guantanamo Bay, he gave up his boss' location. Unfortunately, Trevor Kingston, Fulcrum's top encryption man, had already moved on to a new undisclosed location."

"No doubt when he heard Fletcher was in custody, he knew it was time for him to find a new hiding place," Sarah surmised.

"That's what we believe, yes. While Kingston slipped away, Fletcher has given up plenty of other actionable intel. That's where you two come in. Fletcher revealed that Kingston often collaborates with another software engineer, a Fulcrum agent by the name of Konrad Zeller. Fletcher said that the project Kingston is currently working on—which would probably include circumventing your recent patch to Project Sun Ray—Zeller would have it on his computer."

"Director, we're not in a position to travel to wherever Zeller is," Sarah said with a frown. "We're going to Vienna tomorrow."

"One of the reasons I need you on this mission. Herr Zeller lives in Salzburg, which is three hours from Vienna. We need you and Mr. Bartowski to gain access to Zeller's computer."

"If we do manage to get to Salzburg, how are we supposed to get into his house? Do we do a stealth break in?" Sarah wondered.

"No. Zeller fancies himself a patron of the arts. The day after tomorrow, he's throwing a formal affair to raise money in support of the _Salzburg Festspiel_."

When Sarah saw the question on Chuck's face, she said, "It's a classical music and drama festival they have every summer."

He nodded his understanding. "Mozart?" he asked with a smile.

"Always," she replied. "He was born in Salzburg. We'll have to go visit his birthplace."

Grinning, Chuck answered, "Definitely."

"If I could interrupt your sightseeing preparations for a moment," Graham said, irritation seeping into his voice.

"Sorry," Chuck mumbled sheepishly.

"As I was saying, Zeller's party will be held at his rather impressive villa. Earlier today, a wealthy American couple, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Carmichael, made a sizable donation to the festival."

"I take it Sarah and I are the Carmichaels," Chuck said.

"That's correct. A short time ago, we received confirmation that the donation secured an invitation for you to attend the party."

"At least he waited until he knew you were safe before setting up another mission," Chuck grumbled in a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bartowski. Did you say something?"

Sarah shook her head, but Chuck spoke up anyway. "Do you think it's wise to have us go on another mission so soon after what happened to Sarah here in Prague?"

"It's okay, Chuck. I'm fine." She squeezed his leg again. "It's you I'm worried about. Are you okay with this, given everything?"

"Yeah, as long as we stay together I know I'll be okay. I trust you to keep me safe," he answered, his eyes locked in on hers. His absolute trust in her always made her heart skip a beat.

"Moving along," the director said with a sigh, "once inside, you will get to Zeller's computer and copy whatever recent code he's working on. We also want you to download a Trojan horse onto his computer that will allow us access to it at any time."

"He'll probably have detection software," Chuck said.

"Yes, our programmers here have been trying to figure out a way to cloak the virus, as it were, from such software. Do you have any ideas that would help with that, Mr. Bartowski? We would appreciate your input."

Sarah could practically see the wheels begin to turn in Chuck's brain. "Could you have them forward me the code?" he asked. "I'll noodle around with it."

"Of course." Graham paused and Sarah heard him tap at a keyboard. "I just sent the lead developer an e-mail directing her to send it to you. You'll have it shortly."

"Great. Thanks. I'll let you know what I come up with."

Something about all this struck her as odd. "Since Fletcher is in MI-6 custody, I'm surprised it handed this op to us. I would think they'd want to run it."

"Ordinarily, they would. But when I informed them I had a team in the area, and one of the members is a computer and encryption virtuoso—keeping your name out of it of course—they agreed it would be best for us to handle it."

"And what about the Austrians?" she questioned. "Are they okay with us running an op in their country?"

"I've been in contact with the BVT. They've been watching Zeller for quite some time, but have never had any concrete intel to move on. After hearing the plan, they are fully on board. Two BVT officers will be at the party as backup. Additionally, Major Casey and Agent Vegas will be there, too. Agent Barstow will be working your children's protection detail."

Sarah scowled and shook her head. "Frankly, sir, I'm surprised that you're directing Chuck to do this. It was only a year ago I was sent to protect him from Fulcrum in the first place. Now you want to send him to the house of a man who is a member of Fulcrum? What about having Casey go with me instead?"

"You don't need to remind me of Mr. Bartowski's value to the agency, Agent Walker," Graham said, testily. He clearly didn't appreciate her questioning him. "In a perfect world, no, I would not be sending him in to do this. No offense to Major Casey, but he doesn't have the computer skills and aptitude we believe will be needed to get into Zeller's computer. There really is no one else."

Shoving her hands through her hair, she blew out a breath in frustration. She hated the idea of Chuck being put in danger, again, but knew the director was right. Chuck was the perfect man for the job.

Graham pressed on. "I understand and appreciate your concern for your husband's safety, Agent Walker. No one knows better than I how protective you are of him. That's why I would never send him on this mission without you being there with him. I'm confident you won't allow any harm come to your husband. Additionally, you will have a full complement of tactical gear, including placing Major Casey's tracking devices on each of you."

"Yes, sir," she answered. She still wasn't satisfied, though. "I'm sorry, Director, but I'm still concerned there might be someone at this party who might recognize Chuck. I would feel more comfortable if we could have him in some sort of disguise."

Chuck sat up straighter and grinned. "Oh! Can I wear an eye patch? I would so rock an eye patch." After a split second, his grin widened and pointed at her. "No! Not an eye patch. A monocle. Now _that_ would be classy."

"I'm not sure, Chuck," she said, managing to sound like she was taking his idea seriously. "Vienna and Salzburg tend to be pretty formal. This soiree might be white tie. What if you're expected to wear a top hat? Are you sure you want to go to this thing dressed as Mr. Peanut?"

His brilliant smile nearly knocked her backward. Face beaming with appreciation and humor, he bounced a eyebrow and said, "Very good, Mrs. Bartowski."

An exasperated sigh sounded from the phone. "I think it would be best if you both went in disguise," Graham said. "I'll work with the BVT to ensure you have attire, and the _appropriate_ disguises, ready for you when you arrive in Salzburg."

"Thank you, sir," Sarah said.

"One more thing," Chuck ventured.

"Yes, Mr. Bartowski. What is it?" Graham asked in a near groan. He sounded like all he wanted to do was end this conversation as quickly as possible. Sarah was pretty sure the director would be reaching for those antacids as soon as the call was over.

"I'm not sure Sarah and I are comfortable with us being in Salzburg while our kids are three hours away in Vienna." Sarah nodded. "And with the party being in the evening, we'll need to be away overnight…"

"I assumed that would be an issue," Graham replied. "The BVT has offered a safe house on the east side of Salzburg for you to use."

"I'm sorry," Chuck interjected. "I'm not fluent in my international agency acronyms. Who are the BVT?"

"It's the Federal Agency for the Protection of the Constitution and Counterterrorism." Sarah informed him.

"Sort of like the Austrian equivalent of Homeland Security?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm." She squinted at him as she thought. "The safe house will probably be pretty small."

"Can't be any smaller than Casey's condo. We'll get by."

Thinking through the timetable, Sarah said, "It will be tight getting back to Vienna for the tournament on Friday, but I think we can do it." She had to admit to herself that she was a little excited to go on the mission with Chuck.

Chuck seemed equally excited. With a grin he said, "Well, Mrs. Carmichael, it looks like we're going to Salzburg."

~ O ~

It wasn't long after they ended their call with Graham that Lizzie sent a text to Sarah's phone with a picture attached of Casey—grinning around an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth—giving the camera a thumbs up. She expelled an amused snort when she read the text that said, "John Casey, kicking butt and taking names since 1962." Elbowing Chuck, she held her phone out for him to see.

Glancing at the photo, he said with a small chuckle, "I take it they won the tournament."

"I'm thinking so," she answered as Chuck's phone chimed.

Skimming the text, he said, "Morgan wants to know if it's okay if they all went out for a celebratory dinner and if we wanted to join them."

Sarah was immediately conflicted. The gnawing emptiness in her stomach had returned, so she was certainly up for eating. And while she loved her time alone with Chuck and the idea of leaving the apartment didn't appeal to her right at that moment, having dinner with the kids would show them that things were returning to normal. "Sounds okay to me," she answered.

"Are you sure? You're not too tired?"

"I'm a little tired." Scrunching her nose, she was suddenly feeling a bit ripe. "I think a shower and a change of clothes will help."

"I, for one, don't care if you smell like a dirty sweat sock, but if it would make you feel better why don't I text them and tell them we can be at the square in…"

She did a quick time calculation in her head and said, "An hour. Why don't you check to see if the facial recognition program turned up anything while I'm in the shower and then we can walk to the square?"

"Is it safe for you to be out in public?"

"Blond Russian Guy and his friends are long gone. My guess is they took off right after they tranqed Casey and me, giving them hours of a head start. They could be anywhere by now."

"Good point," he said as his thumbs tapped on the screen. A response came back quickly. "To kill time, Bridget wants to go shopping at some of the department stores. They're going to try to distract her by taking her into a giant bookstore instead."

"That should keep them all busy until we get there," she said.

He took her hand, stood and pulled her up into his arms. Dipping his head, he nuzzled and kissed her neck sending sparks through her whole body. "Chuck," she groaned, her head involuntarily tilting to the side, "we're supposed to meet the kids in a hour."

"I know," he mumbled, his lips in full contact with her skin. The sparks exploded into a complete Fourth of July fireworks show when he nibbled her neck. Raising his head, he gave her a languid smile. "Consider this a down payment for later." His smile faded as he raised a hand and cupped her face. Stroking her cheek with his thumb, his eyes stared into hers. The deep, abiding love she saw in them caused tears to prick at the back of her own. He pressed his lips to hers in a soft, lingering kiss. The emotion she felt from him so overwhelmed her that the tears that had threatened before escaped and trailed down her cheeks. Ending the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling.

This was what she had longed for, what she had craved when she had been kept from him, to be engulfed in the bond they shared. It wasn't turbulent or showy, like waves crashing on a beach. It was powerful and constant and deep, like the current of the Mississippi. And like that mighty river that sometimes overflowed its banks, her feelings so overwhelmed her she felt like a love-struck schoolgirl. "Chuck, I love you more than I could ever say."

Foreheads still touching, she felt the arm around her waist tighten. "I love you, Sarah. More than you'll ever know." After staying like that for another moment, he kissed her nose and asked, "Can I get the shower started for you?"

She nodded and smiled. Life continued on. "Thank you. I'll snag some clean clothes and be there in a minute." By the time she grabbed her clothes and arrived in the bathroom, the room was already steamy. She showered quickly and was a little disappointed when Chuck didn't join her. Toweling off her damp hair, she padded back to their bedroom and found him sitting ramrod straight on the bed with his open laptop on the bed in front of him.

Spinning the computer around so she could see the image on the screen, he asked excitedly, "Is this Blond Russian Guy?"

"It is!" she said, surprise filling her voice. "How did you find him? You only had pictures of Hulk One and Hulk Two."

"Is that what you called them?" he asked, his smile widening. "I'm so proud."

"I'm married to a nerd," she deadpanned. "I've been assimilated." She grinned when he jerked so hard he almost fell off the bed.

"You're killing me over here," he said, shaking his head violently, as if trying to clear the cobwebs. When he grew still again, he continued, "The program found the Hulks. I did a search of the known associates listed for one of them, filtering for blond males of Russian descent. And the winner is," he swept his hand across the top of the computer like he was showing off a prize on a game show, "Dmitri Brusilov. He's worked for Henri Benoit for twenty years."

Picking her phone up from the nightstand, she said, "I should call Graham and—"

"I hope you don't mind, but I already took the liberty of sending the good director an e-mail with their names. I think the Agency can handle it while we go eat, don't you?"

"I hope so. I'm hungry."

"Me, too. Are you almost ready to go?"

"Almost." She dropped her phone on the bed, picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. When she went to place it back on the nightstand after putting her hair up in a wet ponytail, she spied the little red box. Opening it, she slid her rings from their slot and slipped them on her finger. Snapping the top closed, she put the box back on the stand and winked at her grinning husband. "_Now_ I'm ready."

~ O ~

When Chuck and Sarah met everyone outside a restaurant that served traditional Czech food, the kids were thrilled to see them. Talking excitedly over each other, the kids barraged their uncle and aunt with greetings and information. After Chuck overheard Lizzie whisper to Sarah that the Polish boy with the blue eyes was named Iwan, he received a playful slap on the arm from his niece when he said he approved because it rhymed with "Obi-Wan." Curtis informed them that the Prague Buy More was the biggest they'd seen so far in Europe. Fred and Lisa told them Casey could have won the tournament as a one-man team, and Martie was pleased to explain that Wenceslas Square was actually a really big rectangle. Bridget's eyes shone with excitement when she told them the bookstore they had visited had _four_ floors and lots of books in English. Megan was the only one with nothing to say and merely stood next to her aunt and tugged at the leg of Sarah's jeans until she got her attention. When Sarah squatted down in front of the little girl, Megan threw her arms around her neck and hugged her tightly.

As they sat down at a table, the kids were still full of energy and chatting away. By the time dinner was over, they were tired, stuffed and subdued. They were grateful to not have to walk back to the apartments when they piled into the van. There wasn't enough room for everyone, so Casey and Barstow volunteered to walk back. Sarah figured there would be little conversation during that stroll, which she assumed Carina would appreciate when Sarah would tell her about it later.

Once back at the apartments, it was clear that the day that had started at four-thirty in the morning was catching up with the kids, especially the little ones. Even though there were minor protests that it was still too early to go to bed, Martie and Megan were soon bathed and in their pajamas. The two girls—and Curtis, now fully invested in the story since he had read it to his sisters the night before—huddled around Sarah and listened intently as she read to them the thrilling conclusion of _Artemis Fowl_. When the story was over, Bridget presented them with the next book in the series, having just picked it up—thanks to Uncle Casey's wallet—at the bookstore earlier that evening. While they wanted to start the next story right away, Sarah put them off, saying they would read it the next night in Vienna.

It wasn't long after the two littlest girls were in bed and Curtis had returned to the Man Cave that three older girls' eyelids started to droop as they watched a movie. Making a parental decision, Chuck turned off the television and announced it was time for everyone, Sarah and himself included, to go to bed. Surprisingly, there were no protests and soon the apartment was dark and quiet.

Sarah worked the vanilla scented lotion into her hands as she closed the bedroom door behind her. She was a little surprised to find the lamp on Chuck's side of the bed turned off, and he already lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. He usually worked on his computer or read a book if he was in bed before her. Not wanting to wake him in case he was already asleep, she was careful not to jostle the bed when she slipped under the covers and turned off the light. It felt like absolute heaven to be able to lie flat. She couldn't stop the deep yawn that overtook her.

Chuck rolled toward her, propped his head on his fist and settled his other hand on her hip. "That was a monster yawn. You must be exhausted."

"I am. It didn't hit me until a little while ago." She tried and failed to hold back another yawn. "Sorry," she chuckled when her yawn triggered him to yawn as well. "Looks like you're a little tired yourself."

"Yeah, it was a pretty eventful day."

Resting her hand on his arm, she said, "I think that's a bit of an understatement."

"You think? I'd have to say that saving you from kidnappers is only slightly more exciting than driving the kids to school."

Her voice was equally droll when she answered, "Our lives _are_ getting to be a bit hum drum, aren't they? I think we need to figure out a way to get more excitement, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," he replied, absently drawing his thumb back and forth across her hip. "I'm thinking about becoming one of those guys that milks the venom from poisonous snakes. Care to join me? We would make an awesome husband and wife team of snake wranglers."

She shuddered. "No thanks. I'll stick to spying. Besides, I don't think Megan would approve."

Heaving a mocking sigh, he said, "Oh, you're right. She hates snakes. I suppose we'll just have to keep doing what we're doing then."

"Speaking of 'doing what we're doing,' when should we tell the kids about our little side trip to Salzburg? Do you think they'll be worried about us going on another mission so soon after what happened here?"

"We'll tell them in the morning before we go to the train station. And yeah, they might be worried, but I think they would be no matter when our first mission back happened, tomorrow or next year. Besides, if we tell them both of us will have Casey's trackers on us, that should lessen their worry some." With a quiet chuckle, he said, "Morgan's the one I'm concerned about. This is going to throw his omnipotent clipboard for a loop."

"Face it, sweetie, his clipboard has grown more and more impotent as we've gone along."

In the dark, she felt him wince. "Not a word a guy likes to hear when he's in bed with a beautiful woman."

After a loud snicker that slipped out, she clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled into it. "Sorry." She removed her hand from her mouth, rested it on his shoulder, pulled him down and kissed him. When it broke, she whispered, "Trust me. Not an issue."

In the pale light, she saw him grin. When it faded and he sighed, her brows scrunched together. "What? What is it?"

"I have to tell the kids about my parents." After a pause he added, "Their grandparents."

"When? Maybe you should wait a while."

"No," came his quiet answer. "Casey, Barstow, Vegas, Graham. They all know. It's not fair that they know and the kids don't. I don't want them hearing it from someone else by accident. I'll call a family meeting before we leave tomorrow." His voice turned sardonic again. "We all know how much they love those."

"I, for one, enjoy them," she said with a little laugh. "The kids' reactions are usually pretty priceless." Her humor dropped away when he remained silent. Her voice turning serious, she said, "I'll be right there with you. Always."

"I know. Thank you." He leaned over her and found her lips with his. His kiss was soft and sweet. When he raised his head, she expected him to drop his head on the pillow and go to sleep. When he tightened the hand on her hip, lowered his head and kissed her again, this time there was a gentle urgency.

She knew they were both physically exhausted and emotionally drained. The rational part of her mind told her they needed sleep more than anything else. And yet, in her soul she knew what they both wanted and needed. Craved. Sleep would come later. They'd had their emotional reunion. Now was the time for their physical one.

She opened her mouth under his, enticing him. It was the only invitation he needed. When he opened his and their tongues thrust and parried, she couldn't stop a low, guttural moan from escaping. Still locked in their heated kiss, he shifted and threw a leg over so that it rested between hers. Raising a knee, her thigh grazed his hip and put her foot on his calf. Their hands roamed and caressed, delighting in each other's touch. As they made love, the fear and anguish and solitude and longing they had endured melted away and was replaced by security and tenderness and fulfillment.

After, as Sarah dozed safely enveloped in the arms of her husband, their legs tangled together, she heard him softly humming. "What's that you're humming?" It was a quiet, lilting tune, sounding almost like a lullaby.

He stopped, mid-hum and mumbled with embarrassment, "Sorry. I thought you were asleep."

She would have to tell him about her own instance of nocturnal singing sometime. "It's okay. It's nice. What is it?"

"It's just a country song that's been running through my head since we got back from dinner."

"Any particular reason why?"

Her head resting on his shoulder felt the shrug. "Some of the lyrics seem appropriate."

She lifted her head to look into his face. "Can you sing it?" Having heard him occasionally sing to the two littlest girls at bedtime back home in Colorado, she knew he had a lovely voice and wished he sang more often.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You'll think it's sappy and cheesy. You don't want—"

"I do. Please?" More and more, she was coming to appreciate how powerful music could be.

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." She settled her head back onto his shoulder as his rich baritone voice softly sang, "Dreamed of you in my solitude." He paused, swallowed hard and continued in a halting voice, "I told myself way back when, that if my prayers could get me there, I'd never let you go again."

The emotion in his voice as he sang the words nearly turned her into a puddle of goo. "Darlin' I had lost you once. Thought my world had come to an end. Now in my hands, a second chance. I'll never let you go again."

He kissed her hair and held her tighter. "Now and forever more, you can come to me. Baby, run to me. And I'll take you into my arms. I'll never let you go again."

Nestled in his arms, she slipped off to sleep as he quietly finished the song. "In my hands, a second chance. I'll never let you go again."

~ O ~

"Never Let You Go Again," music and lyrics by George Kennedy, Wayne Kirkpatrick and Tommy Sims. From Trisha Yearwood's album, _Where Your Road Leads._ There is an excerpt of the song on my blog.


	35. Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

**A/N:** I'm back! Thanks for your patience during the off week. As I mentioned some time ago, some chapters might come more slowly, especially when the family moves from one city to the next. There's a significant amount of research I do for each city in an attempt to make this story as authentic as possible. That means I spend hours examining train timetables, studying Google Maps and reading travel websites to figure out where the family should stay, where the Buy More should be located, forms of local transportation and what sightseeing they can do given their circumstances. The load for this and the next chapter has doubled with Vienna and Salzburg coming so close together. All that is to say I can't promise there will be a chapter posted next week. If I won't be posting next week—or any Thursday for that matter—I always put something about its status on my blog, so you can check there if you want. Again, thanks for your patience and understanding.

Thank you, too, of course for the wonderful reviews, comments, tweets, etc. I'm thrilled and amazed that this story is approaching 900 reviews. I'm grateful to each and every one of you who have taken the time to leave reviews and let me (and AgentInWaiting) how much you're enjoying the story, things you liked, questions you have, words of encouragement and conjecture on what's to come. Hearing from you is really wonderful, so again, thank you.

Thank you to **AgentInWaiting**, my hard working teammate, who spends plenty of time of his own double checking my research and fixing my many typos and dodgy grammar.

For **AdmiralK**, **AgentInWaiting**, **mxpw**, and **Ziohenry**.

**Chapter 35 – Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered**

Sarah stared out the window and watched the green countryside flash past as the train sped southeast toward Vienna. Her eyes remained fixed on a farmhouse, tiny in the distance, until it disappeared from view. As she took in the scenery, she turned over in her mind the family meeting they'd had that morning before leaving for the train station. The older kids at first had rolled their eyes and given Chuck a hard time about another one of his lame family meetings. Their teasing quickly ended when they read the serious look on his face. They'd sobered immediately and once the kids were seated, Sarah stood next to Chuck, their hands firmly laced, as he told them that while their aunt had been held captive, she'd learned that their grandparents had died a few years before. He gave them a few details of when and where it happened, a little on how and none on who had been behind it. The older kids had been stoic, the only outward evidence of inward turmoil were glassy eyes and clenched jaws. Martie and Megan, obviously unsure how to respond, sat quietly, their gazes darting from face to face as they tried to decipher all that was going on and how they should react.

In the end, it had been Lizzie, who spoke up first, telling Chuck that while she was sad that she would never get to know her grandparents, she was mostly sad for Chuck and the loss he had to be feeling. Tears welled in Sarah's eyes again, just as they had then.

Blinking back the wetness, she gazed on a puffy white cloud hovering above a tree-covered hill and returned her mind to the report she was in the middle of writing for Director Graham. Laptop open in front of her, she couldn't help but think back on not only the events in Prague, but over everything that had taken place during their trip across Europe during the previous two weeks. Between catching a Fulcrum agent and his anarchist associate in London, securing a rogue bioweapon in Paris, gaining intel about Benoit from Carina in Amsterdam, making a serious decision about expanding their family in Berlin and being kidnapped and rescued in Prague—all the while sightseeing and competing in _Call of Duty_ tournaments—they'd certainly been having an eventful time. Given that they were on tap for another mission in Austria, it was almost a given that the "eventful" parts of their trip wasn't likely to change any time soon.

The sound of rapidly clicking keys coming from Chuck's computer stopped suddenly and she felt him bump her shoulder. "Earth to Sarah," Chuck said in monotone. "Come in, Sarah."

His words pulled her from her musings and drew her attention back inside the train car. Smiling at a chuckling Lizzie directly across from her, she said, "Sorry. I got to thinking about some of the rather unusual adventures we've had over the past two weeks."

Lizzie shuffled the playing cards on the table and shrugged. "With seven kids, we're kind of an unusual family." Megan, seated next to her big sister, looked up at Lizzie and nodded. One by one, Lizzie dealt the cards out until they each had seven, set the rest of the deck on the table, and turned the top card face up next to the remaining stack.

"How's it going without Spy Barbie and crew?" Sarah asked, trying to shake her pensive mood. The Great Barbie Embargo had begun the night before and would continue until just after the tournament on Friday. Megan had been so tired the previous evening that she didn't even miss her dolls. Sarah hoped that would be the case for the next couple of nights as well.

Megan raised a shoulder slowly and let it drop with a sigh. "It's okay. I miss her, but having Lizzie to play with helps." They'd been on the train for about an hour, with another three and a half to go before they reached Vienna, and the two sisters had already played innumerable hands of cards. They had started off playing Go Fish, moved on to Old Maid and were now launching off into another highly competitive round of Crazy Eights.

Sarah's warm smile to her eldest niece was returned with a slight dip of the chin. "It's better than sitting next to Fred," Lizzie said in a voice that was louder than strictly necessary. Chuck snorted when Megan's eyes—never leaving the cards she scrutinized in her hand—widened and she slowly nodded in agreement.

"Hey! I heard that!" came the response from several rows back. At the train station, Chuck had paid extra to upgrade their seats, so the family and team had an entire compartment to themselves. As a result, they felt free to communicate with each other as they wanted and not fear being overheard. Not that other people being around would have stopped Fred, however.

Ignoring her brother, Lizzie said, "I kinda miss Spy Barbie, too, squirt, but I'm sure she and Joe and Dani are safe in Uncle Casey's duffel bag." She took a card from her hand and laid it down on top of the upturned one on the table.

"I still can't believe he agreed to that," Sarah said.

"Are you kidding? I bet he played with them last night," Chuck said, winking at Megan when she looked at him, her mouth gaping open in surprise. "I wonder how Barbie sounds, with a soprano growl."

From the same area where Fred's comment had come, a decidedly non-soprano voice snarled, "Bartowski..."

Any reply Chuck was going to make was forestalled by his wife putting up her hand. "Yes, Casey?" she called out.

Chuck eyes twinkled at Megan with glee when only muttered grumbles were heard and he whispered, "Saved." Megan giggled into the hand clamped over her mouth.

"You know, even though Spy Barbie's not here, that doesn't mean we can't hear a spy story or two," Lizzie said, sending a sly look Sarah's direction. "Right, Aunt Sarah?"

Face glowing with excitement, Megan bounced in her seat. "You could tell us all about your favorite mission."

"My favorite mission," her aunt said, putting a finger to the side of her face. "Let me think." She tilted her head, raised her gaze to the ceiling and squinted, pretending to think hard. "Mm-hmm. That's the one." Looking back down to Megan, she continued, "I'd have to say my favorite was when I was sent to Colorado to take care of seven brothers and sisters and protect their uncle, a code nerd who worked for the Agency, from some bad guys."

"Sounds terrible," Chuck deadpanned. "How'd that work out for you?"

"Meh," she said with a shrug. "Okay, I guess. Better than I expected I suppose."

Megan looked up at her sister. "Are they teasing?" she asked.

"Yes, they're teasing," Lizzie answered, bopping Megan's nose with her cards.

"I thought so," Megan said, clearly please with that she had figured it out.

"Nice try at earning brownie points, Aunt Sarah," Lizzie said, rolling her eyes, "but your mission to Beaver Creek doesn't count."

"Sure it does," Chuck said. The warmth and humor in his eyes and his crooked smile made her stomach do a flip. "But how about instead of 'favorite' we hear about your 'most memorable,' except for Beaver Creek, of course."

One mission sprang immediately to mind, but she wasn't sure if was appropriate. She decided to go ahead and share the tale since she had some time ago learned how tell any story to a six year-old and make it suitable for young ears.

"Okay, this one was definitely memorable and frankly one I hope never to have to do again." Lizzie and Megan looked at each other with wide eyes and immediately placed their cards face down on the table while Chuck quickly closed the lid to his computer. All three turned and gazed at her expectantly.

Taking a deep breath, she ordered her thoughts, leaned forward and lowered her voice for dramatic effect. "It was about five years ago. Three other agents and I were sent to Kiev, tasked to secure some files from a suspected black marketeer who sold every illegal thing from opium to uranium." Sarah was sure Megan didn't know what either opium or uranium were, or what the black market was for that matter, but from the enraptured look on her face, Sarah saw her niece didn't care. "The intel in those files contained lists of who his suppliers were. So we had to figure out a way to get to those files." She cut a sly glance at Chuck and added, "I seem to do that kind of thing a lot in this job."

He gave her a knowing smile and waggled his eyebrows.

"Anyway," she said with an eyebrow bounce of her own in response, "because some of the drugs that were being moved ended up in the United States, our Drug Enforcement Agency was involved in the op."

"No!" Lizzie exclaimed. "Aunt Carina was one of the other three agents?"

From two rows behind, Sarah heard what sounded like a bottle of water and a book crash to the floor. Suppressing a smirk, she wondered how long it would take for Agent Barstow to move up to an empty seat near her to better hear the tale. Her question was answered when she heard a thump followed immediately by a pained, "Yeow."

Peering over the top of Sarah's head, Lizzie frowned. "Agent Barstow stood up so fast, he lost his balance and bumped his head on the window."

Sarah kept her face neutral as Megan nodded knowingly. "Maybe he has to go to the bathroom really bad."

"Looks like you're right, Megs," Chuck answered. Four sets of eyes watched Barstow walk past them toward the toilet. Returning his attention back to Sarah, Chuck said, "So, you, Carina and two other agents are in Kiev to secure some files. Were they at his house?"

"No, they were in his office at the…" she paused and quickly searched her brain to find a better word than bar, "establishment he owned. We cased the place the night before and saw that his office was usually locked up tight with security guards always nearby."

"So how did you get into the office then if the guards were right there?" Megan asked. Her big blue eyes were fixed on her aunt in complete and utter awe.

"We knew we needed a distraction to draw the guards away from the door. Carina and I were the distraction." Sarah suppressed a smile when Barstow, coming back from his bathroom break, sat down in an empty seat across the aisle from Chuck. Barstow picked up a magazine from the seat next to him and began to flip through it, apparently trying to seem disinterested in what Sarah was saying. He failed miserably.

"What did you do to distract everyone?" Lizzie asked.

"We decided ahead of time that Carina and I would pretend to get into an argument over a guy in front of everyone. 'He likes me! No, he likes me!' kind of thing. While we would argue, the two agents would slip away, get into the office and get the files."

"That's what you did?" Chuck asked. He seemed as spellbound as the two girls—and the eavesdropping Agent Barstow.

"Mm-hmm. The evening of the op, Carina and her DEA partner, Agent Dalton, arrived first. My CIA partner, Agent Hamilton, was already there, too. When I came in a little while later, I sat down next to Agent Dalton and started chatting with him. Well, flirting, really. Carina told me to leave her boyfriend alone." Carina had said it in her own salty and colorful way, but Sarah wasn't going to share that with her girls. Or anyone else for that matter.

"But he wasn't really her boyfriend," Megan said, clarifying the point to herself more than anything else.

"No, he wasn't. We were all just pretending," Sarah reassured her with a nod. "Pretty soon, she and I were yelling at each other and Carina gave me a shove on the shoulder."

"She did?" Megan asked, completely shocked.

"Mm-hmm. It was okay, though, because we'd already decided that the best distraction would be for us to get into a scuffle where we ended up in the mud pit."

There was a sharp gasp, followed by a spasm of coughing from across the aisle. Barstow waved a hand dismissing their concern when they all turned toward him. Sucking in a lungful of air, he croaked, "I'm okay."

Megan frowned and then turned from the still wheezing Agent Barstow to her aunt. "Why would there be a mud pit?"

Lizzie raised an amused eyebrow.

"It must be a Ukrainian thing," she answered without hesitation. Without giving Megan a chance to ask any follow up questions, she plowed forward with her story. "Anyway, Carina gave me a shove, but we were still too far away from the mud pit, so I turned and walked toward it, yelling at her that I didn't have to take that kind of thing from her." Sarah remembered her language being stronger at the time, too. "She followed right behind me and as we got to the edge of the pit, she grabbed me by the wrist and spun me around. 'You can't come in here and start talking to my boyfriend like that and think you're just going to leave,' she said to me."

"'I didn't do anything,' I told her. 'Your boyfriend was _more_ than interested in talking to me. I guess he'd rather talk to a blonde than a stick figured past-her-date redhead.'"

Chuck's face scrunched into a grimace. A hand flew up to Lizzie's and her niece muttered a horrified, "No," between her fingers. From the corner of her eye, she saw Barstow's whole body convulse.

"I don't think Aunt Carina would like someone saying that to her, even if you were just pretending," Megan said slowly, her eyes wide and unblinking.

"You're right, sweetie. She really didn't." Setting her elbow on the table, she rested her chin on her palm. "You know how sometimes something starts off as a game, but then it goes a little too far and you really do get mad at each other?"

"Mm-hmm." She shot an angry look in her brother's direction and grumbled, "Fred."

"That's what happened then with Carina and me. She got this really angry look on her face and then gave me a really hard push. When I started to fall backward, I grabbed her blouse and pulled her along. We both fell into the mud."

"How deep was it?" Lizzie asked.

"Maybe six inches. Deep enough."

"Was it cold?" Megan wondered.

"It was."

From the gleam in her husband's eyes, it was clear Chuck was enjoying her story as much as anyone. "So what happened next?"

"Carina was still mad at me, so I had to remind her why we were there in the first place. I snuck a peek over at Dalton and Hamilton as they were just heading back toward the office. Then I whispered to her, 'Sell it, Carina.' And she growled at me, 'No problem, Walker.'"

"Uh-oh," Megan said under her breath.

"Yeah," Sarah agreed. "We both stood up and started to circle each other like wrestlers. I wanted to make sure people were really focused on us, so I lunged at her. The bottom of the pit was lined with plastic, so it was slipperier than I expected. I sort of fell into her and knocked us both down. She tried to put me into a headlock, but I slipped out of it, grabbed her around the waist and body slammed her into the mud. It splashed everywhere. It was pretty spectacular."

"I take it your diversion was working? Everyone was watching?" Lizzie inquired.

"Oh, yeah. Everyone in the place—including the security guards—were circled around us."

"How come no one tried to stop it?" Megan asked. "There was a fight in kindergarten one day between Tyler and Conner," she wrinkled her nose in disgust when she uttered the boys' names, "and Mrs. Dixon stopped it right away." The whole incident seemed to still scandalize Megan, who breathed, "They were both sent to the principal's office."

When Sarah hesitated, not wanting to tell Megan that people paid good money to see women mud wrestle and that stopping such a fight was the last thing any of the patrons of the bar would do, Chuck jumped in and rescued her. "I bet they didn't want to get all muddy, too."

Megan thought about that for a moment and then nodded. Looking up at her aunt, she asked, "And then what happened?"

Sarah leaned forward to draw them in further. "The whole op was in a critical phase. Both agents were in the office trying to find the files. Carina and I had to make sure that everyone stayed right where they were. By now, Carina wasn't mad at me anymore and fully focused on the mission. She looked at me and mouthed, 'flip.' I gave her a little nod. When I rushed her, she bent over, I put my middle into her shoulder, she stood up and flipped me onto my back."

"Wow," Megan whispered.

"By then, both of us were coated head to toe with mud. My hair was wet and stringy and I even had mud in my _ears_!" Megan giggled at Sarah's inflections. "I could tell Carina wanted to stop and so did I, but the agents hadn't come back yet, so we had to keep going. It was getting harder and harder to move with our clothes stuck to us like they were and since we knew we were going to end up in the mud, Carina and I wore bathing suits under our clothes." They actually wore bikinis, but Sarah wasn't going to share that bit of information, either. "We took off our blouses and skirts and tossed them to the side."

That bit of intel seemed to break both Chuck and Barstow. The former slipped off to his happy place and a strange, gurgling, burbling sound came from the latter.

Ignoring the two men, Sarah pressed on with her story. "Finally, Agent Hamilton walked past us and out the front door. It was his job to take the files out, so once he was gone, we knew we were almost clear. Agent Dalton came out next and slipped into the crowd like he'd been there the whole time. Carina and I wrestled for a few more minutes to make sure Hamilton had time to get far enough away. By then, we'd given him plenty of time, so at that point Agent Dalton was supposed to step in and stop the fight. Then he and Carina would leave and I would clear out a few minutes later. Except Dalton stood there, his arms crossed in front of him, all smug and grinning. He didn't seem to be in any big hurry to end it. At all. I'd had enough and wanted to get out of there, so I decided to… improvise."

"What does that mean?" Megan asked.

"It means she was making it up as she went along," Lizzie informed her.

"Oh. 'Kay."

"Right," Sarah said, excited to get to her favorite part of the story. "Carina and I stopped fighting and looked at each other. I pointed at Agent Dalton and shouted, 'This is all his fault. If he was with you, he shouldn't have been flirting with me!' I saw this flash in Carina's eyes and I knew she got it, too. 'Yeah,' she said. 'He's a dog!'" Sarah stopped and chuckled. "You should have seen the look of sheer terror on Dalton's face when we both charged over to him and gripped his wrists and gave them a jerk. After his unplanned and yet spectacular belly flop into the mud, Carina and I stepped over him, grabbed our filthy, mud soaked clothes and shoes and went for the door together, our feet slapping across the floor and leaving a trail of muddy footprints."

Slow clapping her appreciation, Lizzie grinned and said, "Bravo, Aunt Sarah. Bravo."

Dipping her head in a gracious bow, she chuckled and said, "Thank you."

"What happened to Agent Dalton?"

Sarah bit her lip and grinned. "Agent Hamilton obviously had already left in one of the two cars we had there. The original plan was for Carina and Dalton to leave together, pull out of the parking lot and wait around the corner until I came out and found them. Since Carina and I left together, she and I went to the car and waited for him. Dalton found us and we three mud covered spies headed back to the safe house."

Concerned, Megan asked, "Was Agent Dalton mad?"

"Yeah, he was. When we called him on what he did, he gave us some lame excuse saying that he was only trying to make sure Hamilton had enough time to get away." She shrugged. "Whatever. The mission was a success and that was all that mattered." Sarah scraped at the top of the table with her thumbnail. "Carina told me later that Dalton requested to their boss that he never have to work with her or me again." Looking up from the spot, she grinned and said, "That worked out fine since Carina and I had already made the same request to our bosses."

"Oh, Aunt Sarah. That's the best spy story, ever," Megan said. Sarah could see the gears turning in the little girl's brain as she tried to figure out when Barbie, Dani and Joe would be able to act out that mission. "I think it'll have to wait until we get home to Colorado. I'm going to have to let GI Jim be a part of this one," she mumbled under her breath. "Even if he is really stiff."

"Thanks for the story, Aunt Sarah. It was awesome," Lizzie said.

"You're welcome."

Picking up her cards, Lizzie asked her sister, "You ready to play, squirt?"

As the girls returned to their game, Sarah put her lips next to Chuck's ear and whispered, "Did you like my story?"

Chuck, having returned from his happy place, nodded enthusiastically. After a brief glimpse at Barstow, still in an apparently near catatonic state, Chuck asked in a quiet voice, "What's up with him?"

Tipping her head to look past her husband, she glanced over at the agent. In an equally quiet voice, she said, "I think he's discovered his happy place."

His eyebrows lowered as he scowled. "Are we going to have a problem with him if you're the one—"

"Oh, no! Not me," she answered quickly. At the confusion on his face, she returned her lips to his ear. "A certain redhead."

"Really?" A tiny smile tugged at his lips. "Our favorite DEA agent, huh? Always knew he was a brave guy."

Snorting, she playfully slapped a hand to his chest. "Keep this intel to yourself, okay?" she said, continuing to whisper in his ear.

He shrugged and replied with a simple, "Okay." He looked at her and his eyes suddenly flared with mischief. This time, it was his turn to press his lips to her ear. "Tell the truth, Agent Walker. That bathing suit you had on under your clothes. It was a bikini, wasn't it?"

"Mm-hmm." She knew it would send him off to his happy place again—maybe he and Barstow could be neighbors—but she couldn't resist. "Leopard print." He jerked a little and his eyes drifted and glazed over. Kissing his cheek, she whispered, "Enjoy your time away. I'll be here when you get back."

~ O ~

Their train arrived at the _Wien Meidling_ station as scheduled, at exactly three twenty-four in the afternoon. Once they made their way through the station, they traveled on the U-bahn to the _Mariahilf_ district of Vienna, where their hotel was located. It was an elegant nineteenth century building with marble floors, rich wood paneling and the kind of thick, luxurious rugs that made Sarah feel like she was walking on a giant pillow. The rooms themselves were fairly small and slept only two people in each—except for Chuck and Sarah's where Megan's mattress was on the floor—so it took some time to get everyone situated.

Sarah wasn't especially pleased with the fact that none of the rooms were adjoining, but it was a fact they simply had to adjust to. She certainly wasn't going to mention it to Morgan, since he was still miffed that the whole sightseeing itinerary for the next day had to be scrapped because of the impromptu trip to Salzburg, grumbling that they were going to miss out on the Hofburg Imperial Palace, the Spanish Riding School and Saint Michael's. She had been somewhat successful in smoothing his ruffled feathers by assuring him that there was plenty of sightseeing to be done in Salzburg. They had even spent quite a bit of time on the train after she'd finished her story discussing with him some things she thought they would be able to do there in the time before the mission. That had seemed to mollify him to some extent as he jotted notes on his clipboard.

None of the rooms were large enough for all of them to meet together, so they gathered in the richly appointed lobby to talk about their plans for the rest of the evening. Morgan's clipboard had them going to dinner and then returning to the hotel fairly early since the original plan had been to spend the entire next day sightseeing. However now that their time in Vienna had been shortened significantly, they wanted to get the most out of their evening.

"Morgan, where does the clipboard say we're supposed to eat dinner tonight?" Chuck asked.

"I don't have my clipboard along since I thought we 'winging it,'" he said, grimacing slightly as if he found the very idea of spontaneity distasteful, "but I still remember it." He poked at his temple with his index finger. "It's a place called, 'Figmiller.'"

Chuck took his phone from his pocket and tapped his thumbs on the screen. "Are you sure that's right, buddy? I'm not seeing it."

All eyes on him, Morgan stammered, "I'm… I'm pretty sure that's what it is."

Sarah turned her head toward Chuck and raised her hand to her mouth. "Try 'Figlmüller,'" she whispered from behind her fingers and spelled it out for him.

"Mm-hmm," he hummed quietly, thanking her. "Ah, here it is. Thanks, buddy."

"Memory like an elephant, Uncle Morgan," Fred said, raising his hand to deliver a high-five. A clearly relieved Morgan slapped the upraised hand with a smile.

"It looks good," Chuck said. "It's says Figlmüller is sometimes called, 'Home of the Schnitzel.'"

Curtis' gaze—which until then had wandered around the lobby in boredom—snapped to his uncle's face. "Did you say schnitzel? I like schnitzel."

Chuck turned and held up his phone for Curtis to see. "Do you think you could eat all that?"

Curtis' eyes widened. "You bet I could."

"Let me see," Fred said. Peering at the screen, he breathed, "Whoa! It's bigger than the plate. We should definitely eat there." His sisters clustered around the phone, looked at the food and voiced their agreement.

"Okay, schnitzel for dinner. And then what?" Chuck asked, pulling the phone back.

Sarah put her hand under Chuck's and tipped the phone so that she could see it better. Tapping the screen and opening the map that gave the location of Figlmüller, she squinted at it and said, "It's only three stops from here on the U-bahn." She brought Chuck's hand and phone closer to her face. "Just across the Danube Canal is the _Wiener Prater_. We could go there after dinner. That might be fun."

"What is it?" Bridget asked.

"It's a big park," she answered, her voice light.

"That sounds fun," Lizzie responded. Her voice was diplomatic, but there was no enthusiasm behind the words. Lisa sighed and shrugged. Both boys mutely shoved their hands deep in their pockets and hunched their shoulders forward. Only the two littlest girls seemed to like the idea.

Casey groaned and rolled his eyes. "Geez, Walker. You're a regular barrel of fun, aren't you?"

Sarah's eyes twinkled, amused by their lukewarm reaction to her idea. "I guess I forgot to mention the section of the park called the _Wurstelprater_."

Megan gazed up at her, her face filled with curiosity. "What's that?"

"It's an amusement park," she said, sounding indifferent. "It's got lots of rides, rollercoasters and stuff, but if you think it'll be boring, I'm sure—"

The apathy she'd seen in the kids a moment before vanished. Straightening, with sudden interest, Fred said with a lopsided smile, "You know, I guess that place doesn't sound so bad."

Looking at him side-eyed, Sarah deadpanned, "Uh-huh. I thought so." He beamed at her when she reached out and ruffled his hair.

Plans now set, the group headed toward the front door of the hotel. Agent Vegas caught Sarah by the elbow and stopped her as the rest of the family filed out onto the sidewalk. "Ma'am? What's our assignment for this evening?" Barstow stood next to his partner and looked at her expectantly.

"You two are exceptional agents and worked tirelessly the last couple of days. Tomorrow will be another busy day, so I think you both deserve the evening off." She was surprised when she noticed a shadow of disappointment cross Vegas' face. Barstow seemed to deflate the tiniest bit. "However," she said, keeping her face serious while she stifled the urge to grin at them, "Chuck and the kids will be in a very open and public place when we're all at the _Wurstelprater_. I'm sorry, but we'll need your help in protecting them. I'm afraid you'll both have to join us at dinner and the amusement park. You may even have to accompany the kids on some of the rides."

"Understood," Vegas said.

She almost laughed out loud when she saw Barstow faintly vibrating with excitement. "Anything for the kids, ma'am."

"Appreciated, agents." A small smile graced her face as she gave them a smart nod. "Let's go." She turned on a heel and strode out the door with the two agents flanking her on either side. They quickly caught up with the rest of the group with the two men staying with Casey at the rear while Sarah fell in step next to Chuck and slipped her hand into his.

"What was all that about?" he asked, sneaking a peek over his shoulder at the agents behind them.

"Nothing. Just picked up a couple more kids who wanted to go to the amusement park with us," she answered with a smirk.

Looking forward again, he squeezed her hand and said with a knowing smile, "Awesome."

~ O ~

"Remind me in ten years to have four-point safety harnesses and a roll bar installed in whatever car Megan learns to drive in," Chuck mumbled to Sarah as they left the bumper cars behind.

"She was a bit aggressive, wasn't she?" she responded with a chuckle. "The first thing she said to me as soon as they turned the cars on was, 'Floor it!'" While Megan was big enough to steer the bumper car, her legs weren't long enough to reach the pedal so that task had fallen to Sarah.

Laughing, she felt him squeeze her hand. "So you did."

"Of course. How else were we going to knock you and Martie sideways across the place?"

"Yeah, us and everyone else. I think she took it as her personal mission to hit everyone as hard as she could," Chuck said, glancing down at his niece, who held tightly to Sarah's other hand.

"They're called 'bumper cars' Uncle Chuck," she piped up. "I was _supposed_ to crash into everyone else, right?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow and peered at him. "She's right, you know."

"I suppose," he answered with a wink. "We chose to take it a little slower, right kiddo?"

From the other side of Chuck, Sarah heard Martie giggle when he shook her hand so fast it made her whole arm wiggle back and forth. "Yeah," she managed between snickers.

"I like going fast," Megan said, no longer walking, but now hopping alongside Sarah like a kangaroo. "I wish I could go on the rollercoasters with the bigger kids," she added with a slight pout.

"Sorry, Megs, but you still have some growing to do before they'll let you on those rides," Chuck said. "Just be glad you got to ride the _Wiener Hochschaubahn_. It's kind of a big deal to get to ride the oldest rollercoaster in operation in the world."

"Nice use of German, Herr Bartowski," Sarah said.

"Thank you, Frau Bartowski," he replied with a grin.

"No, Uncle Chuck," Megan said, slightly exasperated. "You should say, '_Danke_.'"

Martie looked over at her sister and nodded. "Or he could have said, '_Vielen Dank_.' Uncle Casey told me that means, 'Many thanks.' I heard our waiter at Figlmüller say that to Uncle Casey when he told him it was the best schnitzel he'd ever eaten." Martie started to skip along next to Chuck as she continued. "He must have really liked it, too, since he ate the rest of ours. Right, Megan?" The two girls had shared a schnitzel and still couldn't come close to finishing it.

"Mm-hmm." Megan, now tired of hopping, started to walk again. "I think Agent Barstow liked the schnitzel as much as Uncle Casey did. He ate his and what Bridget didn't eat." After a pause, she added, "And the part of Lizzie's that the boys didn't finish."

Pride filled Martie's voice when she said, "The waiter said '_Vielen Dank'_ to me when I told him I liked his tuxedo."

"That was very polite of you to compliment him like that, sweetie," Sarah said. She was thrilled that Chuck and the kids were picking up the language.

"I still like to go fast," Megan said, circling back to where the conversation had started. It always gave Sarah a chuckle, the conversational whiplash that could happen when talking with the two youngest. "I'll have to learn to drive fast for real when I become a CIA agent." Sarah looked at Chuck who shrugged back. "Can we go back on that Vienna Airlines ride before we have to leave? I liked that one. Even though we weren't really flying, it felt like we were."

"I liked the way the wind blew in my face, even though we were inside," Martie added.

"A little more exciting than the _Riesenrad, _huh?" Sarah asked. The first thing they had done when they arrived at the park was to ride the popular Giant Ferris Wheel, a famous Viennese landmark. From inside one of the fifteen enclosed cabins that slowly took them over two hundred feet in the air, they were able to enjoy a fantastic panoramic view of the city. While it was true that riding the _Riesenrad_ was something many tourists made a point to do when visiting Vienna, it had the added bonus of helping pass the time as the kids' food settled in their stomachs before they went on every spinning, twirling, twisting and spiraling ride in the park.

Chuck glanced at his watch. "It depends on whether or not the rest of the group meets us back at the Calafati when they're supposed to." They walked up to the Calafati—a tall statue of a Chinese man that had once graced the merry-go-round owned by Basilio Calafati in the nineteenth century—and stood by it. As they waited, Sarah noticed the looks of wonder on the girls' faces as they took in the kaleidoscope of neon colors flashing and glowing around them. The sounds that filled the air was a cacophony of carnival music coming from different rides and the occasional screams of rollercoaster riders as they zoomed by. Sarah wasn't positive, but she had the feeling that behind all the other noises, Strauss' _The Blue Danube_ played on a continuous loop over the loudspeakers.

After a few minutes, part of their group approached. Sarah's gaze swept the faces and immediately asked in a tone that was sharper than she intended, "Where are Fred, Lisa and Curtis?"

"Simmer down, Walk—, Sarah," Casey said, catching himself before he could be corrected by the Name Police. "They wanted to go on a ride called the _Schwarze Mamba_," he informed her, hiking his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the attraction. "The rest of us didn't want to lose our dinner all over our shoes, so we came to meet up with you."

"Barstow better be with them," she said in growl.

Vegas, obviously detecting the angry mama bear tone in Sarah's voice, quickly came to his partner's defense. "He is, ma'am. The kids talked him into going on the ride with them."

"Should we wait here or go watch our intrepid thrill seekers take on," Chuck's voice grew dark and ominous, "the _Schwarze Mamba_?"

Sarah inclined her head toward Chuck's and in a low tone, said, "That means Black Mamba. Do you think that will be a problem?" At his confused look, she flicked her gaze to Megan and then back to him.

His face cleared when he understood her meaning. Shrugging, he answered, "Probably not. I don't remember seeing it, but they usually call rides things like that just to make them sound scary."

"I wanna go watch Fred and Curtis scream like a little girls," Lizzie said with a wicked smile. Bridget's eyes gleamed as she grinned and nodded.

"Oh, let me bask in the sibling love," Chuck said, sounding a bit like a country preacher. He held his up palms, closed his eyes and tipped his face up with a beatific smile as if drinking in a warm glow.

When Lizzie laughed and smacked him gently on the arm, he snagged her by the wrist and gathered her up in a hug. "Who am I to stand in the way of this precious family bonding time?" Releasing her, he said, "Let's go watch your brothers scream like little girls."

Chuck sent a quick text to Fred telling him to stay where he was and wait for them in case the boys and Lisa were done with the ride before they got there. Then the group set off, the girls chatting about the different rollercoasters and rides they went on and which ones they liked the most. They neared their destination, and when the family came around the corner of a building, Sarah felt Megan's hand tighten in hers as the little girl stopped dead in her tracks. Sarah ground to a halt and looked down at her. Her stomach clenched at the sight of Megan standing there, completely paralyzed. Squatting down, she searched Megan's face. When she saw her eyes fixed and wide with fright, adrenaline spurt in her middle. "Megan, sweetie, what's the matter?"

Her niece's small hand rose slowly and she tentatively pointed at something in the near distance. Sarah turned to see a twenty-foot tall snake, coiled and menacing, its mouth open to display its sharp, pointed fangs and forked tongue. To make matters worse, the glowing yellow eyes seemed to stare directly at them.

"Oh, boy," Sarah said under her breath. Still in a crouch, she duck-walked so that her whole body was directly in front of Megan, blocking her view of the snake in an attempt to snap her out of her trance. "Megan," she said gently. Taking the two small hands in hers, she called her name again and then waited until Megan's blue eyes focused on hers.

"I don't like snakes," Megan said, her voice quivering. "And that's a really big one."

"I know," Sarah said. Trying to reassure Megan, she squeezed both hands and said, "And even though you know it's not real, it's still scary."

Megan nodded slowly, her face somber.

Sarah craned her neck to look behind her. Chuck, Casey and everyone else had reached the ride and were talking to the kids and Barstow as they waited for their turn. Rotating back to face Megan, she made a split second decision. She didn't know what the parenting books said about whether or not a child should face his or her fears. Frankly, she didn't care. She knew in her gut that she needed to make her little girl feel safe.

"We're not going to go any closer. I promise. I'll text Uncle Chuck and tell him you and I are going to find something else to do for a few minutes." A word outlined in red neon across the top of an arcade booth about fifty yards behind Megan caught her eye. The corners of Sarah's mouth lifted. It was perfect.

Before standing up, she took her phone from her pocket and quickly sent Chuck a text telling him Megan was afraid of the giant snake and to have the whole group meet them at the booth they would be at. She stood, took Megan's hand again and watched him take his phone from his pocket. After he read the text, he immediately scanned the area as he looked for her. When his gaze landed on her, she waved, pointed down at Megan and then behind her. He nodded, pointed to himself and then at her. She shook her head and blew him a kiss. Then the two turned and walked toward the booth.

"Aunt Sarah, what are we gonna do?"

"You see that booth ahead of us? Can you read it?"

She shook her head. "I can barely read English. I sure can't read German."

Sarah laughed out loud. What a great kid. "Good point," she said through her chuckles. "That sign is in English, though."

Megan slowly read the word, sounding out each letter. "S-n-i-p-p-e-r." Her eyebrows pulling together, she looked up at Sarah and said, "What's a snipper?"

"That was really close. It says sniper. It's a shooting gallery."

They arrived at the booth and Sarah eyed the BB rifles lined up on the carpet covered counter. There was a teenage boy to one side of the spot they had chosen and a middle-aged man on the other, plinking at the line of metal targets comprised of bullseyes, little yellow ducks and white rabbits. The teenaged attendant behind the counter eyed and smirked at the beautiful blonde woman and her little blonde girl. Sarah read the sign informing her that each round was seven shots. Anyone who hit seven targets with those seven consecutive shots would win a prize. She tossed a couple of coins on the counter and picked up a rifle. She looked it over, held it up to her shoulder, closed an eye and peered down the sights. Finding it acceptable, glanced down at Megan. "Ready?"

Megan gasped with excitement. "I'm gonna get to watch you shoot a gun?"

"Nope," Sarah answered, dropping the rifle from her shoulder and holding it out. "You're going to shoot one."

"I am?" Megan reached out both hands and was about to touch the rifle when she snatched her hands back, as if it was red hot and might burn her. "I'm not supposed to ever touch a gun."

Sarah smiled, so proud of Megan for remembering the rule. Still holding it out, she said, "You're right. You're not. But I'm here to help you and teach you, so it's okay."

The tentative look on Megan's face gave way to a happy smile, the giant snake now all forgotten. "Oh boy!"

One of Sarah's hands remained on the rifle while Megan gripped it with both of hers. After telling Megan to always keep the muzzle pointed down range and to never put her finger on the trigger until she was ready to shoot, Sarah pointed out the sights and explained how to use them to aim. Then she maneuvered Megan so that Sarah stood behind her to show her where to put her hands and rest the butt of the stock against her shoulder. Once the safety lesson and instructions were complete, Sarah took the gun, cocked the lever and then helped Megan get into position again. Bending over and encircling Megan from behind, Sarah kept her left hand under Megan's on the forearm of the rifle and her right over Megan's hand near the trigger.

With her head right next to Megan's, she gently instructed in a calm voice, "Try to hold it level. Now, close your left eye and line up the two sights with your target with the open one." She peeked at Megan's face. One eye was squeezed tight and her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth in deep concentration. "You got the target in the sights?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Good. Now, we're going to flip off the safety." Although Megan's finger was on the switch, Sarah's did most of the work. "Move your finger to the trigger, but don't shoot yet." When she felt Megan's finger move to the trigger, she said, "Take a deep breath. Slowly let some of it out and then hold it." Megan did exactly as she had been told. "When you're ready, just squeeze the trigger."

There was a _pop_. With an excited gasp, Megan cried, "I did it! I shot a real gun." She looked at her target. "Did I hit it?"

"No, I'm sorry. You didn't, but it was only your first try and you get six more shots."

Sarah cocked the rifle again. Carefully and methodically, Megan took aim and shot. The lower lip stuck out and her brows pulled together when she saw she missed again.

"It's okay. Keep practicing."

The next shot knocked over a little yellow duck, which brought about a happy squeal. Surprisingly, the remaining shots missed, even with Sarah helping to steady the gun.

"I'm not very good at this," Megan grumbled with a frown.

"You did fine," Sarah replied, chucking the little girl under the chin in an attempt to soothe her frustration. Taking the rifle, Sarah tossed another coin at the booth attendant. She noticed the sly look hadn't left his face. Growing up a conman's daughter, she recognized "hinky" when she saw it. "Let me try a couple of shots."

She cocked the gun, raised it to her shoulder, aimed and squeezed the trigger. The tiny projectile missed to the left. Repeating the motions led to the same result, another miss. While she never considered her gun skills to be at the level of a sniper, she certainly had the skills to hit a metal bullseye with an air powered BB gun. The next time she set her aim, she moved the sights a little to the right and pulled the trigger. There was a _ping_ and the bullseye fell back. That told her exactly what the problem was. The sights were off. While it was true that could be a legitimate issue with any weapon, Sarah had the feeling these were off on purpose so the booth wouldn't have to give out many prizes.

She settled with rifle back into Megan's hands and positioned herself behind her to assist her as she had done before. Before she let Megan take the last four shots, she whispered, "The sights are off a little. Aim a bit to the right of your target."

After her deep breath, Megan pulled the trigger and hit the target. Of the next three shots, she hit the target once more.

"Can I try one more time?" Megan asked. Her eyes shone with eagerness as she bounced on her toes. "I want to try to win a prize."

Another coin landed on the counter. "One more time." This time, she hit four targets out of seven. Her disappointment of not winning a prize quickly evaporated when Sarah pointed out that, while she had still been right behind her, that time Sarah's hands hadn't touched the rifle at all. Megan grinned with pride when she understood that she had hit the targets all by herself.

Sarah was certainly pleased with how well Megan had done and her attitude at not winning a prize. At that point, they could have easily walked away from the booth. Sarah, however, intensely disliked the feeling that she had been suckered, and decided to remedy the situation. She dropped one more coin on the counter and picked up the rifle. Shooting like a gunslinger from an old black and white Western, in fifteen seconds she cocked and fired off seven shots in quick succession, each one knocking over a target.

"Wow," Megan breathed in wonder.

Sarah laid the rifle back on the counter, staring at the attendant with a raised eyebrow. The smirk was gone and had been replaced by a surprised face and gaping maw. "_Unser Preis_?" she asked. She knew they had spent way more on shooting than what the prize was worth, but that wasn't really the point. "_Ein kleines, bitte_," she added. Winking at Megan, she said, "I asked him to give us a small prize. We don't want to have to schlep a giant stuffed gorilla around for the rest of our trip."

Megan nodded and accepted a small lime green stuffed unicorn from the young man. "What do you say?" Sarah prompted.

Without a second's hesitation, the little girl gazed up at him and said, "_Danke_."

"_Bitte_," he replied with a smile and a bow.

Turning away from the booth, Sarah spied Chuck and the rest of the group waiting for them a few yards away. Megan took off toward him at a dead sprint and jumped up. He caught her out of the air and held her so that they were face to face. "What have you been doing, Miss Megan?"

"Aunt Sarah showed me how to shoot a real rifle! And we won this!" She held up the unicorn for him to admire.

"How long have you been here?" Sarah asked him as she joined the group.

"Long enough to see you go all Annie Oakley on that shooting range."

"Did you see me?" Megan asked, clutching the unicorn to her chest and wiggling in his arms.

"I did. You're a natural." She beamed at his compliment and squirmed some more. He set her on her feet and she made a beeline for Casey.

"Uncle Casey! I always made sure to keep the muzzle pointed down range," she informed him as she slipped her little hand into his big one.

The group turned and walked toward the front of the park. "Way to go, kid." He was genuinely impressed. "Did you keep your finger off the trigger until you were ready to shoot?"

"Mm-hmm." Megan continued to rattle off all the safety precautions she'd taken as they walked.

Walking next to Chuck, Sarah peeked over at the four who had ridden the Black Mamba. None of them spoke and all seemed pretty subdued. "Is it the neon lights, or are they kind of green?" Even Barstow appeared to be a bit unsteady on his feet.

"Let's just say the mamba took a bite out of them."

Groaning at his terrible pun, she bumped him with her shoulder. "Are we done here? No encore flight on Vienna Airlines?"

"No, it's getting late and we have a busy day tomorrow."

"On to Salzburg, Mr. Carmichael?" She slipped an arm around his waist as he slung an arm over her shoulders.

"On to Salzburg, Mrs. Carmichael."

~ O ~

The kids were less than thrilled that the train to Salzburg left _Wien_ _Westbahnhof_ at seven-forty in the morning. The fact that the train station was within walking distance of the hotel was of little consolation at that early hour. They understood that since they only had one day in Salzburg, they had to get an early start if they wanted to spend as much time exploring the city as they could before the mission that evening. That didn't mean they had to like it, though.

It was ten-fifteen when they arrived at the Salzburg _Hauptbahnhof_. Chuck took the down time on the train to finish coding the Trojan horse he would download onto Zeller's computer. Sarah, Casey, Vegas and Barstow sat with their heads together, quietly discussing specifics of the upcoming op. All of the kids slept during the entire train trip—some curled up in tight balls while others with arms and legs sprawled—so that by the time they prepared to disembark at the central station, their moods had improved considerably.

As they gathered their things and prepared to step off the train, Sarah said, "Kids, remember that you're to stay with Uncle Casey, Uncle Morgan and Agents Barstow and Vegas until Uncle Chuck and I come to you. The BVT officers will be meeting us here at the train station and we don't want them to know about you so you have to act like you don't know us."

"Don't worry, Aunt Sarah. We'll completely ignore you, right guys?" Fred said. "Right," came the resounding replies.

"Good. Uncle Chuck and I will go now and you come after in a minute."

"Unclench, Walker. We'll be fine," Casey growled. He picked up his duffle bag full of tactical gear, slung it over his shoulder and glared at her impatiently. "Just go already."

She slipped on the strap of the overnight bag she'd purchased in one of the hotel's shops the night before and went through the sliding door and onto the platform. Chuck followed right behind her. Without looking back, the two fell in step and strode down the crowded platform toward the main building. "You remember what we talked about?" She knew she was probably being paranoid asking him again, but this mission was the first time he had to play another person for any real length of time and he had a lot to pull off. He couldn't be Chuck Bartowski to anyone, even the BVT officers they were about to meet.

"Yeah. I'm Charles Carmichael and you're Sarah Walker. When we're around the Austrian agents, we're not married and our relationship is purely professional."

Sarah sighed. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't allow her spy persona and Agent Carmichael to be in any kind of personal relationship. Having already confessed to Harry Chalmers that Sarah Walker had "found someone," she couldn't take the risk of allowing anyone—other than those who already knew she was married to Chuck—to actually see her with that "someone."

He held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers. "What about our rings? Should we take them off?"

"No," she blurted. At his smirk, she raised an eyebrow and clarified her response. "I don't want to lose them. If they ask, we'll tell them they're part of our cover."

"Works for me." He dropped his hand and shot a roguish smile her way. "If our relationship is purely professional, you'll have to quit making those bedroom eyes at me all the time."

"Me?" she said with a laugh. "_You're_ the one with the eyebrows that have a mind of their own."

"That's not the _only_ thing that has a mind of its own."

She stumbled when her legs nearly gave out from under her. His hand on her elbow steadied her and helped stop a potentially epic and embarrassing header. Giving him a sidelong glance, she said, "You're going to pay for that later, Agent Carmichael."

He removed his hand from her arm and kept his eyes fixed in front of him. The humor she saw in them indicated how pleased he was by his effect on her. "Promise, Agent Walker?"

As they approached the newspaper and magazine shop where they were to meet the officers from the BVT, her whole demeanor changed. Gone in a flash was the relaxed teasing from a moment before. It was replaced by intensity and focused professionalism. "Mm-hmm," she answered absently as her gaze swept the area.

Chuck, obviously noticing her transformation, immediately sobered and shoved the hand that swung next to her deep into the pocket of his jeans, as if corralling it. While she missed the easy intimacy with which they usually walked—there was almost always some kind of physical contract between them—she knew there could be none now. Although she didn't physically put her hand in her pocket as Chuck had done, she did so mentally.

They reached the small shop, stopped and began to peruse the racks of magazines as they waited. She couldn't stop one corner of her mouth from lifting when she heard him say with quiet enthusiasm, "Oooo! Comic books." As he happily flipped through one, Sarah's eyes continued to roam. With feigned disinterest, she watched the kids and their protection detail enter the building. She was pleased to see the kids were paired up in their "teams," with Morgan taking her place with Megan.

Sarah picked up a magazine, opened to a random page and tipped her head down. Her eyes, however, never glanced down at the page. Instead, she watched as the group walked toward a small food stand. She wasn't surprised that they were hungry, having foregone breakfast for a few more minutes of sleep.

She'd just dropped her gaze to the magazine she held when from the corner of her eye she saw a figure approach. Sarah looked up when a woman's accented voice said, "Excuse me. Are you Sarah Walker?" The woman looked to be bit younger than Sarah, with shoulder length dark blonde hair and startling green eyes.

"Yes, I am." She put the magazine back on the rack at the same time Chuck returned his comic book. Sarah turned and indicated to him with an upturned palm. "And this is Charles Carmichael." She bit back the urge to add a possessive, "My partner," when she saw the woman's eyes flash with appreciation when she looked at him. Sarah's irritation further flared when she held his hand a little too long as she shook it.

"My name is Lena Bauer. I am from the BVT," she said. With her free hand, she flipped open a small leather wallet and showed them her badge and credentials. Finally releasing his hand, she put her badge away and shook Sarah's hand. "We have a car waiting to take you to the house."

Sarah's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry. When we spoke with our director late last night, he assured us that there would be a van available for our use. Our other team members haven't arrived yet and they'll need to transport all of our gear." She looked up at Chuck and then back to Officer Bauer. "We were told the meeting now would simply entail you giving us the key to and the location of the vehicle and the address of the house. Once we met up with the rest of our team, we were to ride there together."

"Yes, that was the plan, but unless your associates arrive in the next few minutes, there must be a slight change." Bauer turned her attention from Sarah and addressed Chuck. "We were tasked to obtain items for you to wear to the party tonight and while we were given your general sizes, we need you to try on the clothes immediately. If there is a problem with size, we need to make the appropriate adjustments before tonight." The woman gave Chuck an appraising look and purred, "I hope the tuxedo will fit your tall, athletic build."

Chuck's Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed hard. Looking down at his wife, he was clearly both supremely uncomfortable and slightly panicked at the inappropriate attention he was receiving from the BVT officer. "What do you think?" His eyes pleaded with her to somehow make it all stop.

_Poor Chuck_. Sarah didn't know if she should laugh out loud at the woman's obvious and unprofessional flirtations or haul off and clock her with a right hook. Knowing that either one would put the whole op in jeopardy and the second might also land her in jail, she forced the hand that had unconsciously balled into a fist to relax. She hated to admit it, but Officer Bauer did have a point. "It makes sense." It frustrated her that things had gone a bit sideways already, but she couldn't allow anyone in any intelligence community to know they were traveling with the kids. They would have to go now with the people from the BVT and have Casey and everyone else follow as soon as possible. "We just need to be sure to get the key to the van to our guys." Turning to the officer, Sarah asked, "How do we do that?"

Bauer took a plain white envelope from her purse and held it up. "The key to the vehicle is in this envelope. We can write the name of your teammate on the outside and have it held at the information desk where he or she can pick it up."

"How will he know where the van is parked?" Chuck asked. His eyebrows shot up and he added, "Or where the house is?"

From the envelope, Officer Bauer pulled out a small piece of paper. "These are the directions to both from here. For obvious security reasons, it would be better if you could call or text this information to your associate rather than leaving it with the key."

Sarah lifted her phone from her pocket and took the paper from Officer Bauer's hand. "If you'll excuse us for a moment, Mr. Carmichael and I will make that call," Sarah said, keeping her voice even and polite.

With a wink at Chuck, Bauer said, "I will be here waiting."

The two walked a few feet away and stood with their backs to the BVT agent. "You doing okay?" she asked under her breath as she looked down at her phone.

"Yeah." He blew out a shaky breath. "Is it me, or is she a bit forward?"

Sarah touched the screen to call Casey and put the phone up to her ear. As she waited for him to answer, she said, "'Forward' is putting it mildly. Under different circumstances, I'd have broken her arm by—"

She didn't get a chance to finish her thought when Casey answered with an irritated, "What the hell's taking so long, Walker. Get the keys and let's move."

"Slight change of plans." She went on to explain the problem and what they had to do now.

"We haven't even started the damn mission yet and it's already a cluster," he grumbled. Sarah could tell he had pulled the phone away from his face when he said, "I need a piece of paper and a pen."

She refrained from turning around and watching their search for the requested paper and pen when she overheard the major say, "Thanks, but I'm not gonna write anything on a page from a coloring book with a pink crayon." There was a pause where Sarah could hear either Martie or Megan—she couldn't tell—say something to him. "I don't care if it is 'magenta,' I'm not gonna do it." After another round of unintelligible grumbling, he said, "Grimes! Hey, Grimes! Pull your head out and give me your clipboard and a pen." The phone moved closer to his mouth when he said, "Okay, Walker. Shoot."

Sarah read off the information from the paper. "Wait until Chuck and I leave the station, then you can go find the van. We'll let you know as soon as it's safe for you all to meet up with us at the house once we've gotten rid of our BVT minders."

"Roger that." Casey said and ended the call.

All Sarah wanted to do before they rejoined Officer Bauer was to take Chuck's hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. Unfortunately, at that moment, she could only encourage him with her words. As she returned the phone to her pocket, she said under her breath, "You're doing great, sweetie."

"Thanks." He heaved a sigh. "Are you sure we can't tell her that you and I are having a wild affair to get her to back off?"

It was tempting. She turned her face to look up at him. "I wish we could, but we can't risk it." For the first time since before they were married, she had to stop herself from touching her hand to his cheek. She'd forgotten how much she hated having to mind herself that way. "Ready?"

"Ready."

After rejoining Officer Bauer, Sarah wrote Casey's name on the front of the envelope and left it with the attendant at the information desk.

"The car is this way," Bauer said, leading them toward the front entrance of the station. Sarah knew Chuck wanted to glance back at the kids on their way out as much as she did, but they both managed to keep their eyes forward. Once out of the building, they turned to the right and walked toward a line of cars. A man standing by one of the vehicles waved at them as they approached. Sarah judged him to be in his mid-fifties and by his demeanor he didn't appear to be particularly thrilled to be there.

"This is Sebastian Gruber," Bauer said. "Both he and I will be at the party with you tonight."

"_Guten Tag_," he said, shaking first Sarah and then Chuck's hand. While his handshake was firm, Sarah still sensed apathy from the man. As long as he and Officer Lena Bauer stayed out of their way, though, she didn't care what his problem was. "The house is about fifteen minutes southeast of here. We should get going."

"Yes, of course," Chuck said. When he opened the rear door of the car for Sarah to slide into the backseat first, Bauer bolted toward it, obviously determined to ride next to Chuck. Sarah, equally determined to stop her, made a sweeping swing with her overnight bag—nearly whacking the other woman with it—before tossing it into the back of the car. Sarah had barely sat down and hadn't even had a chance to scoot over before Chuck had a leg in. He practically sat on her as he flopped into the backseat and slammed the door closed behind him.

As they clipped into their seatbelts, Gruber grunted as he lowered himself into the driver's seat. Once Bauer took her seat, Gruber started the ignition.

As the car pulled away from the station, Sarah had the feeling that this was only the beginning of what was going to be a very long day.


	36. I Want To Hold Your Hand

**A/N: **Once again, thank you for reading, for reviewing and commenting and for your support and encouragement. Thank you, too, to those of you who have recently found this story and followed and/or favorited it. Welcome!

Thank you to **AgentInWaiting** for his beta work on this chapter. As an aside, he recently informed me that this story is now the equivalent of a little over a thousand pages in length. I find that startling (and frankly a little terrifying). Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me through it all.

Insert disclaimers here.

**Chapter 36 – I Want To Hold Your Hand**

Salzburg was one of the most beautiful and picturesque cities Sarah had ever visited. Between the majestic green mountains all around, the peaceful Salzach River that flowed through it and the imposing castles and soaring church spires, it seemed to have come right out of a storybook. As she, Chuck and the two BVT officers travelled along _Schallmooser Hauptstraße_, the road that ran along the base of the _Kapuzinerberg_, Sarah peered past Chuck out the window on his side of the car to gaze up at the impressive hill that sprang up in the middle of the city. She tried to concentrate on the _Kapuzinerberg_—they had to drive around it to reach the safe house—but the constant drone of Officer Lena Bauer's voice made it impossible for her to enjoy the scenery. Or anything else for that matter. In fact, what she really wanted to do was grab Chuck by the hand, open the back door and jump out of the moving vehicle.

They had only been in the car for five minutes and Bauer had already informed them that she was the youngest woman to ever become an officer of the BVT and that she was sure to receive a promotion soon due to her outstanding performance. As if to prove her point, she regaled them with details of her involvement in an investigation that led to the arrest of four suspected terrorists at the airport in Vienna the year before. Sebastian Gruber, the middle aged BVT officer behind the wheel, seemed to have perfected the art of completely ignoring the young woman and remained silent as he guided the car toward their destination.

When Bauer finished talking about herself, she started in on Chuck. She didn't ask the kinds of questions Sarah had prepared him for, such as, "How long have you worked for the CIA?" or "Is this your first visit to Austria?" Instead, Bauer asked questions with maximum flirtation value.

"How often do you work out? With such a muscular build, you _must_ work out all the time," Bauer cooed.

Sarah dug her elbow into her thigh to stop the snort and eye roll that threatened. How obvious could the woman be? And so help her, if Bauer turned around to squeeze Chuck's muscles—or anything else of his for that matter—she was going to lose a hand.

Chuck glanced at Sarah, obviously bewildered at the attention he was once again receiving from Bauer. When Sarah gave him tiny shrug, he answered, "I run some." For a split second, Sarah saw amusement flash in his eyes. Turning his gaze forward again, he added in a vaguely bored tone, "I have a partner I like to cross train with. We always get an excellent cardio workout."

Sarah's middle quivered with lust and laughter. Now, rather than being supremely irritated with the brash and forward woman, all Sarah could think about was pouncing on her husband and doing wildly kinky "cross training" things to him in the backseat of the car. He seemed to read her thoughts when—without even looking her way—his ears suddenly flared bright red.

"I _knew_ you worked out," Bauer said, clearly pleased with herself. "And wherever did you get that wonderful head of brown curly hair?"

The throwing knives fastened to Sarah's calf seemed to suddenly flame hot and burn against her skin. Her fingers itched, ready to slice off Bauer's hand if she tried to touch one of the curls—Sarah's curls—on Chuck's head.

"Um, it grows out of my head that way," he answered. Then he took his phone from a pocket, switched it on and tapped his thumbs on the screen. When he was finished, he turned away from Sarah to look out the window, the phone still in in his hands.

Bauer tittered at Chuck's response. "Oh, Agent Carmichael. You are _so_ funny."

The vibrating of Sarah's phone distracted her from audibly groaning. As she leaned forward and reached around to withdraw it from her pocket, she tried to read Chuck's face, but he kept it scrupulously turned toward the window. In an attempt to change the subject, Chuck said, "So, Officer Bauer…"

"Please, call me Lena."

"Okay. So, Lena, tell me about the building on top of the hill we just went around."

As Bauer turned tour guide, Sarah checked her phone. She wasn't surprised in the least when she saw that the text message she'd received was from Chuck. It read, "Would trade the rest of our scheduled PDA sessions for a hot and heavy make out session right now. That would get her to back off."

On the outside, there was no change in her demeanor. On the inside, her heart rate quickened. "Trade?" she tapped on the screen in response. "Are you kidding? After that 'cross train' comment, you deserve a freebie." Her upper lip twitched when she touched the "send" button.

As she watched and waited for Chuck to receive her text, she tuned in to hear Bauer talk about the _Franziskischlössl_, a small castle that used to be part of Salzburg's defenses and now was a restaurant.

A short of buzz burst forth from the phone in Chuck's hand. His movements were slow and measured as he turned it over and lowered his eyes to read the text. The change in him was subtle, but Sarah noticed when he blinked slowly and his breathing grew shallow. He tapped his thumbs on the screen again and when he was done, he stared placidly at the back of the seat in front of him.

"A freebie? You are a temptress, madam. A TEMPTRESS," came his electronic response.

_God_, she thought, _he's adorable even when he's just sending me texts_. He was certainly making it more and more difficult for her to keep from blowing their cover altogether by jumping him and doing all kinds of unspeakable things to him. "Me? Your idea, Mr. Make Out Session."

She managed to keep a straight face as she watched him read her response. He turned the stifled snort into a cough. "Well done, Mrs. B," he typed back. "For the record, want to. Bad. Don't need a reason."

She heaved a quiet sigh and typed, "Me, too. Love you."

"Love you, too." And they tucked their phones away.

During her and Chuck's electronic flirting, Bauer's nonstop monologue had become nothing more than background noise, like a television on with no one paying attention to it. Now that their little diversion had ended, she focused back to what Bauer was saying.

"Of course, you can always ask me anything about Salzburg, but I know Vienna better. I come from a very large, very prominent Viennese family."

"Is that so?" Sarah did her best to sound interested. While she might find Officer Bauer extremely tiresome and ill mannered—which surprised her since she had always found the people of Vienna to be gracious and polite—they still had a mission to complete. Even if Bauer's role would potentially be very small, she was going to be a part of it and Sarah didn't want to cause friction from her side. Trying to give Bauer the benefit of the doubt, Sarah reminded herself that as far as the BVT agent was concerned, Chuck was available. She really couldn't fault the woman for finding him attractive. Sarah certainly had from the first day they'd met, and her attraction to him grew daily. She could, however, fault the woman for being a bit too aggressive.

"Yes. A distant relative of mine was even a baroness. Apparently, she was wealthy, beautiful and sophisticated and came here to Salzburg quite often before the Anschluss. She was engaged to an officer in the royal navy who had a villa here."

Chuck's eyes grew wide while Sarah's stomach tightened. The story of the Austrian baroness was sounding awfully familiar. "They didn't marry?" Sarah asked. She had the feeling she already knew the answer. Was this the same baroness Jill Roberts was related to? Was this going to be a problem?

Bauer huffed and shook her head. "No. There are conflicting stories about who ended the engagement. Some say he broke it off so he could marry one of the help. Others believe she ended it simply because he just wasn't the right man for her."

"That's a shame," Chuck answered noncommittally.

Lena waved a dismissive hand. "Ach. It is not important. We do not associate with that part of the family. They act as if they are better than the rest of us." Sarah bit back a snort. Definitely Jill Roberts. At least she didn't have to worry about Lena Bauer figuring out Chuck Bartowski and Charles Carmichael were one and the same.

The conversation came to a natural conclusion when Officer Gruber slowed the car and turned onto a long, gravel covered driveway that bisected an expanse of green. After the car rolled to a stop, the four doors opened and they passengers stepped out.

Standing next to the open car door, Sarah stared up at the large, two story house in front of her. She wasn't expecting anything like this. At all. "This is the nicest looking safe house I've ever seen."

For the first time since they left the train station, Officer Gruber spoke up. "It is not an official safe house. It is the Salzburg home of the director of the BVT. He lives in Vienna, but often comes here on weekends. We do have another safe house in the area that is most likely more of what you are expecting. However, it is currently occupied." Gruber cut Bauer off with a loud and obvious throat clearing when she started to say something. Sarah guessed that Bauer was about to blurt to them who was currently occupying the official safe house. The woman really needed to learn when to be silent. "The director wishes to ensure the CIA realizes they have the complete cooperation of the BVT for this mission."

"That's very kind of him to allow us to use his home. I hope it's not an imposition," Chuck said. He stooped, reached in and picked up his bag from the backseat. When he straightened, he let out a surprised yelp. Officer Bauer had trapped him between herself and the car. Chuck leaned away from her and hugged the bag in front of him to protect himself.

"Not at all," Bauer said. "The director is currently—"

"Officer Bauer," Gruber snapped. The man, who until then had seemed so completely disengaged and uninterested, was suddenly sharp, focused and obviously unhappy that Bauer was about to give them the current location of the director, something that clearly was to remain a secret.

Sarah saw Bauer roll her eyes as if she didn't care what Gruber said. And she still Chuck trapped.

Sarah's jaws clenched as she watched Bauer practically lie on top of her husband. She tried to think of a way to save him without looking too possessive when he called out loudly, "Agent Walker, let me get your bag for you." Before Sarah could respond, he ducked back into the car, slid his bag across the backseat and crawled across it on his hands and knees. When he reached the other side, he pushed his bag onto the drive, snagged Sarah's and popped out to stand next to her. Stooping, he picked up his, slung a bag over each shoulder and looked at her, distress still evident in his eyes.

She gave him a warm smile. "Thank you, Agent Carmichael." Dropping her voice, she whispered, "Quick thinking, sweetie." It made her feel better to see the tension ease from his face.

As the four walked up the rest of the drive toward the house, Sarah made sure to keep herself between Chuck and Bauer. Even so, Bauer still fixated on him. Eyeing his hand, she said, "I see you both are wearing wedding rings. Why is that?"

Before Sarah could answer, Chuck said, "They work as deterrents. A married Agent Walker draws men's attention, but they won't approach her. An unmarried Agent Walker has to beat them off with a stick."

While Officer Bauer responded with a sour, "Oh," Gruber nodded, his face indicating that the explanation made perfect sense to him. For her part, Sarah wanted to jump into Chuck's arms and pepper his face with kisses, but she of course refrained. It didn't mean she wouldn't heartily thank him for the compliment later, though.

Gruber opened the front door and they entered a beautiful, modern living room with warm hardwood floors, white plaster walls and a high cross-beamed ceiling. "The house has five bedrooms. It should easily accommodate you and the rest of your team."

"Wow, this is beautiful." Wandering over to one of the large windows, Sarah gazed out at the spectacular view of the nearby mountains. Sudden pangs of homesickness hit her unexpectedly and like a ton of bricks. She'd never had those feelings before in her life. Now she missed _their_ mountains and _their_ big house with all the bedrooms. She missed their bed with their pillows in their room.

Gruber's voice pulled her from her musings. "There are two bedrooms here on the main level and three upstairs. We hung the clothes for tonight's mission in the closets of the two guest rooms upstairs. If you would prefer to stay in another room than the ones we have chosen, please feel free to move to whichever you prefer."

"Thank you, Officer Gruber," Sarah replied. "I'm sure they're fine."

Gruber climbed the wooden stairs first, followed by Sarah, then Chuck, who carried both bags, with Bauer bringing up the rear. Sarah tried not to think about what might be going through the other woman's mind given her current view of Chuck's backside. But the thoughts that did sneak in still made her grind her teeth.

To the right at the top of the stairs was the master bedroom. Peeking into it, Sarah saw that the theme of wood floors and ceiling used on the main floor continued upstairs as well. The room was light and airy with glass doors that led to a balcony. Turning left they walked down the short hallway. Gruber stopped at the doorway of the first bedroom and held out an arm. "Agent Carmichael, this will be your room." Chuck dropped his bag on the floor next to the double bed. "Agent Walker, you will be in the room at the end of the hall," Gruber said, nodding for her to go ahead. Sarah walked past him and entered the room with two twin beds. Chuck followed closely behind her and set her overnight bag on the bed closest to the door.

Sarah was already thinking through the kids' sleeping arrangements. She and Chuck would move their belongings into the master bedroom later, freeing up the upstairs two rooms for the girls to sleep in. Assuming at least one or both of the bedrooms downstairs would accommodate both boys, all the kids had a place to sleep. "These are wonderful accommodations, Officer Gruber. Please be sure to thank your director for his hospitality," Sarah said.

Gruber made a slight bow. "I will be sure to pass along your thanks." Looking to Chuck and then Sarah, he said, "Now, it would be most helpful if you could try on the clothes, please? If anything requires attention, we need to take care of it as soon as possible." He withdrew his phone from his pocket. "I must check in with our superiors and advise them that we have met and have arrived at the director's house. Excuse me." Gruber turned and started down the stairs.

"Sure. No problem." Chuck hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll just go…"

"Do you need any assistance in dressing, Agent Carmichael?" Bauer asked. She must have seen the shocked look on his face because she added quickly, "Tuxedoes can have a lot of confusing parts to them."

Sarah heard a low, feral rumble. At the odd look she received from the other woman, Sarah realized the growl had escaped from her own throat. She pointed at her throat and cleared it. That seemed to satisfy Bauer. What Sarah actually wanted to do was push the woman off the side of a mountain.

"I'm sure I can manage it," Chuck said. He seemed to sense that it would be best to get Bauer away from his wife, who had grown frighteningly still. "Let's leave Agent Walker to try on her dress."

The other three cleared out of the room, with Chuck giving her an "it's going to be okay" smile as he closed the door behind him. A few seconds later, she heard the door to the other room loudly close. Blowing out a breath, she bounced her shoulders a couple of times when she noticed how rigid she'd become. "Just try on the dress and get them out of here," she mumbled under her breath. Before she did that though, she sat on the side of the bed and opened the GPS app on her phone to check on the rest of the family. They were all together a couple of kilometers from the safe house. She sent Casey a quick text telling him they were still with the BVT agents, but assured him it wouldn't be much longer before it would be clear.

Heaving another sigh, she tossed her phone on the bed, pushed her hands through her hair and slipped off her shoes. Padding across the floor, she took the dress from the closet and held it at arm's length for inspection. It was floor length and black. Not a particularly bold pick for such an occasion, but a smart one since she needed to blend in with the crowd. Had she been choosing the dress herself, she would have picked a rich, vibrant color. However, given the auburn wig that sat atop the Styrofoam head on the nightstand, black was the safest bet.

As she undressed quickly, she heard the muffled sounds of Officer Bauer talking to Chuck through his closed door. Snorting at how relentless the woman was, she slipped the dress on over her head and pulled it down over her hips. The skirt pooled a bit on the floor around her feet, but once she slipped on the black heels she'd brought with her on the chance they would work, the length was certainly manageable. She stepped into the en suite bathroom to check herself in the mirror. Smirking, she knew Chuck would appreciate the deep sweetheart neckline. Turning around, she saw the back was a pretty black lace dotted with sparkling appliques. The lace continued over her shoulders and became straps that attached at the front. Rotating to face forward again, she smoothed her hands over her stomach, then down her hips and thighs. It was lovely and elegant and fit surprisingly well. It would definitely work.

She went to the door and was about to go out into the hall to check on Chuck's progress when she overheard Officer Bauer say, "I would be happy to go with you and Agent Walker when you reconnoiter the villa and surrounding areas today. Perhaps we could even have lunch together as well. That could be quite fun."

_About as much fun as a white-hot poker shoved up—_

Bauer didn't wait for Chuck to answer and plowed forward. "Of course, that is if your suit and Agent Walker's dress do not need any attention. I take my job very seriously and must make sure everything is ready for the mission tonight first." At first, Sarah could only roll her eyes at the arrogance that tinged Bauer's voice. Then she turned furious at the audacity of the woman to invite herself along in the first place. Stomping back over to the bed, she ripped the dress off over her head, turned it inside out and found one of the side seams of the bodice. In one smooth motion, she slipped Sting from the sheath on her calf and sliced through the threads that joined the front and back material like a laser beam through metal.

Replacing the knife, she said aloud as she pulled the dress back on, "Oh, look at that. There's a tear. What a shame."

She crossed the room again, opened the door and stepped out into the hallway at the exact same time Chuck exited the room he'd changed in. The white dress shirt over his t-shirt was open and the cuffs stuck out the sleeves of the unbuttoned jacket. He stood with his arms held a few inches away from his body, looked past Bauer as if she were invisible, at Sarah and then at his sock-clad feet. "I think my legs are a little longer than they expected."

A good four inches of white gym socks were exposed below the hem of the pants. She grinned at him. "Yeah, you definitely look like you're waiting for a flood." The way the kids were constantly growing out of their pants, that was an expression heard often around their house.

He smiled back and the twinkle in his eye told her he was thinking about the kids, too. Officer Bauer didn't seem to enjoy being left out of the moment and scowled. "There is no flood coming, but it looks like we will need to have your pants lengthened." When she acted like she was going to drop to her knees in front of him to inspect the hem, his eyes widened with alarm. He leaned his back against the wall, pulled up one foot and crossed it across the other knee. At the same time, Sarah swooped in and stood next to him, cutting off Bauer's access.

Chuck flipped up the hem and said, "There's plenty of material. They just need to be let down."

At first, Bauer frowned, but then her faced brightened. "It shouldn't take too long to have a tailor fix this. Perhaps I can meet you somewhere later." She glanced at Sarah. "Agent Walker's dress seems to fit her perfectly, so I should not be too long."

Sarah let a hint of a smile turn up the corners of her mouth when she saw the admiration in Chuck's eyes when he looked at her. He dropped his foot and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. His compliment had to remain unspoken.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said, not meaning it all as she raised her arm to show off the four-inch gap in the bodice. "This is going to need to be repaired, too."

Bauer would not be deterred. "I can drop them off at the tailor and still meet you later."

"You will do no such thing, Officer Bauer," Officer Gruber said evenly as he reached the top of the stairs and walked up to the group. "Once you've taken care of the clothing for tonight's mission, you are to return to the office. This is not a holiday for you. There are other cases that require our attention. In addition, Agents Walker and Carmichael have their own team they will be with today." To Chuck and Sarah he said, "We will get these items repaired and return them here as soon as possible."

"Thank you," Chuck said.

They couldn't risk being at the house with the kids when the clothes were returned. "Could you call or text me when you've dropped them off?" Sarah asked. "That way we'll know they're ready even if we're not here."

"Yes, of course. You can give Officer Bauer your number. She will be the one to contact you. The clothing is her responsibility."

The glower on Bauer's face made it clear she wasn't pleased with the way she'd been pushed out of the conversation. Trying to insert herself and regain some control, she perked up and said, "I think it would be a good thing for me to have both Agent Walker's and Agent Carmichael's phone numbers."

Sarah somehow stopped another eye roll. "I'm sorry," she answered immediately, "but Agent Carmichael's number is to be used for secure calls only." _From his wife_, she wanted to snark, but refrained. She then rattled off her phone number to the thwarted Officer Bauer. "I'm sure you want to get these things mended as soon as possible, so we'll go ahead and change." She turned on her heel as Chuck beat a hasty retreat to the other bedroom and closed and locked the door. Sarah was out of the dress, back into her clothes and ready to leave the bedroom with the dress on its hanger in less than a minute. When she opened the door, she found the hallway empty.

While she waited for Chuck outside his door, she heard voices downstairs. Gruber's voice was measured, but firm as he spoke to Bauer in German. "They are agents of the Central Intelligence Agency and do not need you with them as they prepare for tonight's mission. If I hear you have contacted them in any way today, other than to inform Agent Walker that the clothes for tonight have been returned to this house, I will personally ensure that your next mission will be to Siberia. Understand?"

"_Ja, ich verstehe_." Bauer's response that she understood his directive was curt. Sarah heard a hint of pique in the other woman's voice that told her she would follow orders, but wasn't happy about it. _Officer Bauer might need to adjust her promotion expectations_, Sarah thought to herself as Chuck unlocked his door and opened it just enough to peek through a crack.

"The coast is clear," Sarah whispered.

He opened the door the rest of the way and stepped into the hall with the tuxedo pants draped over his arm. "Whew," he breathed, his whole body relaxing. With a crooked smile and a bouncing eyebrow, he whispered back, "I know I'm irresistible, but this is ridiculous."

She heard the humor and self-deprecation in his tone and knew he expected a snarky response from her. Instead, she gazed into his face and murmured with the utmost sincerity, "Yeah, you are irresistible."

In his eyes, she watched the humor give way to wonder. She wanted to steal a kiss, but she couldn't risk it, even if the two BVT officers were safely downstairs. Instead, she bumped him with her shoulder and said, "Let's go."

They hurried down the stairs and handed off the items to be repaired to Bauer, who still looked sour following her chastisement. After they went over some last minute details in connection with the mission, including making sure a car was available to take Chuck and Sarah to the party, Officers Gruber and Bauer left.

Once their car disappeared from sight, Chuck blew out a relieved breath. "Finally! Now we can—"

She put a finger on his lips to stop him from saying anything else. Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered in his ear, "Trust, but verify." His brow furrowed in confusion. "Don't say a word. I'll be right back."

Taking the steps two at a time, she sprinted up the stairs, grabbed the bug sweeper from her purse and bounded back down the stairs. She spent the next fifteen minutes sweeping the house for listening devices. Finding none, she returned to the living room where Chuck sat flipping through a magazine. At her return, he dropped it on the coffee table and stood.

Satisfied that they could speak freely, she answered his unspoken question. "You never know how trusting one agency is of another, especially one from another country, even if they're on the same side." She set the sweeper on the end table by the couch and faced him. "Since I didn't find any bugs, it's safe to assume they're not going to pay much attention to us. We should be okay for the rest of the day." Taking her phone out of her pocket, she said as she typed a text, "Now to get the rest of our team here." A reply came almost immediately. "They're close. They'll be here in about five minutes."

"Sounds good." He reached up and brushed at a strand of hair on her forehead. "I'm sorry your dress had that problem along the seam."

"I'm not. It got Officer Bauer out of our hair for the rest of the day."

He peered at her from beneath lowered lids. "Why do I get the feeling you sabotaged that dress?"

"Because I did," she replied unapologetically. "I overheard Bauer say she wanted to go with us today and that wasn't going to happen for a _lot_ of reasons. I knew my dress didn't need any alternations and I couldn't take the chance of relying on your tux not fitting right to make sure she stayed busy. I had to do something. So, I unsheathed Sting and cut through that seam like Darth Vader's lightsaber through Luke Skywalker's forearm."

"Oh god, Sarah," he groaned, giving in to a full body shiver. He yanked her into his arms, crushed her to him and planted his lips on her neck just below her ear. His hot breath nearly scalded her skin. "You have no idea what you do to me when you talk nerdy."

She tossed one arm around his neck and slipped her other hand up under the back of his t-shirt. When she raked her fingernails across his bare skin, she felt him shudder again as their fronts pressed and strained against each other. In a low, throaty voice, she said, "I think I have a pretty good idea."

He drew his lips along her jawline, leaving a trail of searing kisses and setting off a shockwave of shivers of her own. Her breathing now ragged, she wrapped a leg around the back of his when his hand slid down her back and tucked under the waistband of her jeans. Warmth flooded her when his mouth found hers. The passion and intensity of their kiss so overwhelmed her, their desire for each other so freely revealed, she didn't know exactly when or how they ended up on couch. Now laying flat, her hand continued to roam up and down his bare back, while the other ran through his hair. Still locked in their hard, heated kiss, the top half of him hovered over her while his hips and legs perched on the edge of the couch next to her. He moved his hand from beneath her, slipped it under the front of her shirt and rubbed it slowly over her belly. When his hand bumped against the waistband of her jeans, he popped the button and slowly lowered the zipper. Her pulse boomed in her ears and she barely breathed when his hand resumed making its lazy circles. Now with more area to work with, it moved lower and lower with each circuit. Her breath hitched in her throat when it lingered over her black panties, his thumb lightly grazing her skin just underneath the lace at the top. She felt her face flush and grow hot when his hand moved lower still.

A loud knock at the door ripped away the feelings of warmth and pleasure that had enveloped her. Chuck's lips tore away from hers when he jerked up and fell backward off the couch. Righting himself, he sat on the floor, leaned against the front of the couch and gazed around the room, heavy-lidded and utterly bewildered.

Sarah rested her hand on her forehead, trying to collect herself. She could hear the kids talking and laughing just on the other side of the door. One of them needed to go let them in.

"Chuck," she croaked, peering at him from under heavy eyelids. She had that "just been kissed within an inch of her life" feeling shooting through her. "Can you go let them in?"

His head wobbled, swiveled toward her and wobbled again. He had that adorable, sexy, muddled and slightly rumpled look about him. His eyes were glazed and looked straight through her. "Hmnah."

His eloquent reply told her it was up to her to answer the door. She sat up and swung her legs over his head. Blinking away the stars that floated in front of her, she took a deep breath and called out, "Be right there!" She somehow managed to stand and staggered toward the door on legs as shaky and unsteady as a newborn foal's. Once she made it to the door, she ran her hands through her hair, buttoned and zipped up her jeans and tugged at the bottom hem of her shirt. She glanced back at Chuck who had somehow gotten himself onto the couch. He seemed surprisingly composed as he sat with one leg crossed over the other and an arm lying across the top of the cushions. She could see, though, that he was still pretty dazed and a little cross-eyed. Sucking in a deep, lungful of air, she held it for a few seconds and then expelled it in a gust. She still felt slightly fuddled and cobwebby, but with their kids right there, she had no choice but to open the door.

She swung it open and immediately stepped back, allowing the flood of people to tumble into the room. The kids came in first and shouted out their greetings to their uncle and aunt. Martie and Megan hugged Sarah around the waist and then followed their brothers and sisters as they all spread out in different directions to check out the house. Sarah waited for the four men to enter before she closed the door behind them.

Chuck, apparently still unable to stand, called out from where he sat on the couch, "This is not our house, so no snooping. And don't break anything." With a doleful look, he asked his wife, "They're going to kick us out of Austria, aren't they?"

She leaned against the door and crossed her arms. "Probably."

After exploring the downstairs bedrooms, Lizzie walked toward the kitchen. As she neared where Chuck sat, she glanced over at him, looked away and then snapped her attention back to him with an impressive double take. "Um, Uncle Chuck?" Pointing to her lips, she mouthed, "Lipstick." He blushed six shades of red as he swiped his hand across his mouth. "Don't worry if you don't get it all," Lizzie said, shooting an amused look her aunt's way. "Aunt Sarah's new shade looks pretty on you."

"It does look good on him," Sarah said and gave Lizzie an unapologetic grin. Pushing away from the door, she sauntered across the room and sank down on the couch next to her husband. Lizzie snorted and rolled her eyes when Sarah said, "I'll have to make sure that shade ends up on him more often."

Once Lizzie had moved off into the kitchen, Sarah rubbed her thumb at the corner of his bottom lip to remove the last of her lipstick.

"Tell me," Chuck said, his voice soft and just above a whisper, "did I just redeem my 'freebie' coupon?"

"Oh, no, although it certainly helped you retain your title of Mr. Make Out Session." Her vision blurred when she thought about the way his hand… Footsteps pounding above their heads brought her back. From the sounds throughout the house, the kids were getting restless and the time had come to move on. She stood, took both his hands in hers and pulled him to his feet. As she slipped an arm around his waist, she said, "You said you would trade away our remaining PDA sessions, so I think technically your 'freebie' should be PDA, don't you think?"

Chuck rested his arm across her shoulders as they strolled to the middle of the room, ready to call everyone together to prepare to go sightseeing. "I think your logic is perfectly sound. Any particular time when this 'freebie' might take place?"

"I was thinking maybe tonight during the mission."

He snickered and said, "Maybe in front of the intrepid Officer Bauer?"

"Maybe."

"But Agent Walker and Agent Carmichael only have a professional relationship."

"Yes, but their cover for the mission is that they're married." Her voice turned prim and professional. "I think it's a necessity to help sell our cover."

Straight faced, but with a twinkle in his eye, he considered her and then nodded. "You're right. It must be done for the good of the cover." He heaved a faux put upon sigh. "The things we do for our country."

~ O ~

Standing on the sidewalk outside Mirabell Palace, Sarah watched Vegas drive the van down the street after dropping the family off at the first stop of their whirlwind day of sightseeing. There were simply too many things to see in one day, so they narrowed their list down to what was manageable in the seven or so hours they had. While the _Festung Hohensalzburg_, the fortress castle that loomed imposingly on a tall hill high above the city was an obvious choice, they decided against touring it since they had just been to Prague Castle a few days before. When the idea of visiting Nonnberg Abbey was floated, Sarah scowled and said she'd spent enough time in religious cloisters to last her a very long time. Since it was a spectacularly beautiful day, being outside to enjoy the sunshine was something they all preferred, so the gardens at Mirabell Palace had been chosen as the place to begin.

"How come Agents Vegas and Barstow aren't sightseeing with us today?" Lisa asked.

"They have some things to do to get ready for tonight," Sarah answered. While that was true, as they did have to get the communications equipment set up in the van, they were also going to be at the house when Officer Bauer returned with the clothes. The plan was for them to accept the clothes at the door and then immediately send her on her way. If she insisted on returning the clothes to the rooms herself—that was something Sarah could certainly see the woman doing—the agents would watch her to make she didn't snoop. With the chance that Bauer might go in the rooms again, Chuck and Sarah had left their bags where they were, making them prime targets for prying eyes and rifling hands. And until Bauer made her delivery, the kids' luggage had to stay stashed away in the van.

The group walked north along _Mirabellplatz_, the street on the east side of the palace. They were about to pass in front of an arched portal to the center courtyard when they had to suddenly stop. A white open carriage, pulled by two spectacular and beautifully matched white horses, turned in front of them. The driver, dressed in a smart morning coat and grey top hat, sat high on a bench just behind the two horses. Even in the warmth of that glorious June day, a goldenrod lap robe covered his legs. In one hand, he held the reins and in the other, a buggy whip.

Two beaming passengers rode behind him. One was a young bride, dressed in a strapless white wedding gown. A silver headband adorned her upswept hair. The other, an older gentleman—presumably her father—wore a black suit and white necktie. The two smiled and waved at the gaping Bridget, Martie and Megan as they clip clopped passed. The three dumbfounded girls managed to slowly raise their hands and wave back as the landau glided into the courtyard.

"Was she a princess?" Martie asked breathlessly as the group started walking along the sidewalk again.

"Nah, she's not a princess," Curtis informed her with an air of authority. "She's just gonna go get married."

Sarah quelled the laughter that bubbled up. "For the record, Curtis, I think you can pretty safely say that almost every woman feels like a princess the day she gets married."

"Did you feel like a princess the day you and Uncle Chuck got married?" Bridget asked.

"You bet I did," came her enthusiastic reply. She smiled at her husband when she felt a gentle squeeze from the fingers entwined with hers.

Megan nodded with emphatic approval. "You looked like one, too," she stated.

A frown took over Martie's face. She didn't look convinced that what Curtis had said was completely accurate. "If she's not a princess, how come she's getting married in a palace?"

Megan's eyebrows lowered and pulled together as she considered her sister. She turned her head and stared up at Curtis, her voice filled with challenge when she said, "Yeah. How come?"

Curtis seemed genuinely confused and didn't know how to answer. It was Morgan who jumped in to respond to the girls. "I was reading about this place. There's a room inside the palace called the Marble Hall. I saw some pictures of it and it's really cool. Anyway, anyone can get married there. You don't have to be a princess."

"Yeah, but you probably do need a lot of dough," Casey grumbled from where he walked at the back of the group.

Bridget squealed. "Oh! When I get married, I want the wedding to be here in Salzburg." She threw out her arms to the side and twirled once.

"Who's gonna wanna marry you?" Fred said with a snort.

"Stuff it, Fred," Lisa shot back on her sister's behalf.

They came to the end of the block and turned left onto a wide walkway. To their right was a grassy area dotted with large shade trees and on their left was the north façade of the palace. Bridget, now walking backwards in front of her uncle and aunt, beamed up at them expectantly. "Can I Uncle Chuck, Aunt Sarah? Can I? I want the horses and the carriage and the dress and everything."

"We better start saving our pennies now, Uncle Chuck," Sarah said under her breath.

"Yeah, no kidding," he mumbled back. "How do you feel about robbing a bank?" To Bridget he said, "Well, we can't promise anything right now. Don't you think your future husband might want to have a say in the wedding planning?"

"He'll love me so much, he'll want to do whatever makes me happy," she replied with a grin.

He bumped the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Of course. I should have known."

Once they passed the northwest corner of the building, a set of open wrought iron gates marked the entrance to the gardens. The kids immediately bounded down the stairs and began to explore their surroundings. At the top of the steps, Sarah stopped to take in the view. The scene in front of her was like a painting, a study in perspective. The black gates on either side of her were in the forefront and the wide space at the bottom of the steps was dappled with sun and shadows. The rectangular garden before her was flanked by the palace on the left and an ivy-covered wall to her right. A long, crushed gravel walkway bisected the garden and at its center, the focal point of the whole composition, was a large, circular fountain with a statue in the middle. Four large rectangular sections of grass were at each corner. Ribbons of red and white flowering plants slashed and swirled across the lawns in geometric designs.

In the near distance, just above the tree line of the garden, the aqua-hued Baroque dome and the two spires of the Salzburg Cathedral soared into the air. The backdrop of the entire scene was the Hohensalzburg Fortress, perched on its hill, high above it all. It was simply breathtaking.

"It's times like this," Chuck started softly, "being here with you in a place like this… I can't believe this is my life." She gazed at his profile and saw his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. With an almost imperceptible shake of the head, he said, "I mean, I'm in one of the most beautiful and charming and amazing places in the world with _the_ most beautiful and charming and amazing woman in the world." A smile flickered on his lips. "The woman who _somehow_ agreed to be my wife," he added, clearly amazed by the statement. His attention moved from the landscape in the distance to something closer. She followed his line of sight to where the kids strolled, and in some cases ran, around the garden. "We're in Salzburg with our seven kids." The wonder still hadn't left his voice. When he fell silent, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their fingers laced together and basked in the world around them.

Sarah knew exactly what he was feeling in that magical moment. She felt it, too. It was one of those times when it all seemed surreal, like her life was a dream. The strong hand that gripped hers assured her that it was indeed real, a reality that she would never take for granted.

When Curtis noticed them watching, he sprinted toward them with a huge grin on his face. Seeing their brother tear off toward their uncle and aunt apparently inspired Martie and Megan to do the same. When the three reached the bottom of the steps, Curtis hopped up the first three, back down one and then up two more. On either side of their brother, Martie and Megan copied him in a game where the three hopped up and down the steps. By the time they reached the place where Chuck and Sarah stood watching them, the three kids were laughing and panting.

"Whatcha doing just standing up here?" Curtis asked when he finally caught his breath.

"Enjoying the view with your aunt," Chuck said. His thumb stroking over her hand reinforced his words.

Martie swung her arm out and pointed behind her. "You have to come see the statue in the fountain over there. It's a horse with wings!"

"Wow," Sarah said, tweaking Martie's nose. "A horse with wings sounds pretty cool." She turned and smiled at Chuck. "I think we need to go see this."

"I agree. We wouldn't want to miss a flying horse." They had gone down a few steps when Chuck looked up toward the sky, ducked his head and raised his hand over it as if shielding himself from something. "I'm a little worried about what might plop on my head if there are horses flying around here, though."

Curtis snorted a laugh while the two girls giggled. "That's gross, Uncle Chuck," Martie said with a wide grin.

"It's true!" he cried, pretending to be affronted. "Think about what comes out of the back end of a horse and—"

"Thank you, Uncle Chuck," Sarah said with a hint of exasperation and shot him a good-natured glare.

Within a half minute of reaching the fountain, the rest of the kids arrived. "The flowers are nice and all, I guess," Fred said, as he stepped up onto the outside rim of the fountain and started to walk around it, "but there's not much to do."

Lisa followed suit and it wasn't long before all seven of the kids were striding around the edge of the fountain.

"I dunno, Fred," Chuck called out as their nephew marched by. "Looks like you found something to do."

Sarah tensed ever so slightly when a middle-aged woman who had been standing not too far away came to stand next to Chuck. "All these kids yours?" she asked with an American accent.

"They are," Chuck answered. "I'm sorry. Are they bothering you? I guess I should tell them to get down."

"No, they're not bothering me." The woman crossed her arms and watched the kids continue to round the fountain. "Seven kids. Five girls and two boys. Playing in a garden in Salzburg."

"Yup," Chuck answered.

"Doesn't that remind you of anything?" she asked.

Tilting his head and squinting up into the trees, he was obviously thinking about the woman's question. Sarah had no idea what the woman was driving at.

"It does seem familiar, but I can't put my finger on it," Chuck said apologetically.

The woman chuckled and turned to smile at them both. "That's okay. I just thought I'd ask. Have a nice day and see you at Nonnberg Abbey." With that, she strolled away.

The kids, apparently having grown bored of the game, jumped down and began to wander off.

"That was odd," Sarah said, peering at the retreating figure. "I wonder what that was about."

Chuck shrugged.

"And why did she think she would see us at Nonnberg Abbey?"

"Maybe she has a sixth sense about how you're inexplicably drawn to all things monastic."

She snickered and bumped him with her shoulder as they started off after the kids. "Good point. Who knows better than me what hotbeds of intrigue abbeys and monasteries are?"

He guffawed, hooked his arm around her neck, pulled her close and kissed her temple.

She tucked her arm around his waist and slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. Looking around she spied her partner sitting on a bench, happily puffing away on a cigar. "Casey's over there on a bench, but I've lost track of Morgan."

"I'm sure he's around here somewhere."

They reached the end of the first garden and heard shouts and peals of laughter coming from inside the hedge tunnel in front of them. Peering down the long, vine covered passageway, they saw Morgan running toward them, racing through it as fast as he could with the kids chasing behind him. He stopped suddenly, stepped to the side and crouched down. Fred and Curtis stopped next to him and dropped into a sprinter's stance, readying for a race. Morgan put up his hand and when he brought it down, he shouted, "Go!" The two boys took off in a dead run. They popped out at the end of the tunnel with Fred beating Curtis by a couple of steps. Four of the girls finished close behind them. Morgan and Megan brought up the rear, a huge grin splitting Megan's face, her having hitched a piggyback ride.

"It's too bad there's not much to do here," Chuck said, his tone bone dry as he looked at Fred, who had rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath. The boy stood up straight, shrugged and grinned unapologetically at his uncle.

As they investigated the gardens for next thirty minutes, one by one, each kid mentioned their growing hunger. With food now on their minds, they left the gardens and crossed over the Salzach River on a footbridge to Old Town. They wound through the narrow streets and courtyards to _Getreidegasse_, Salzburg's main shopping lane and one of the main tourist areas in the city. On this sunny summer day, the narrow lane was extremely crowded, so Chuck and Sarah had the kids team up to make sure no one got lost. Behind her aviator sunglasses, Sarah's eyes never stopped scanning the crowd and counting heads as she firmly held Megan's hand. She did, however, allow herself to look up at the ornately crafted Baroque wrought iron signs which hung out over the shops in the buildings that lined the street.

After grabbing a quick lunch at McDonalds, they strolled along the lane, peering into the display windows of the stores. They didn't stop until they came to a chocolate shop.

"Aunt Sarah? What's in the blue and silver foil?" Bridget asked, peeking through the door.

"Those are called '_Mozartkugeln_.'" She knew what was coming next and was powerless to stop it.

"What's that mean?"

"'Mozart balls.'" As expected, there was round of snorts, snickers and chortles. It didn't help that Chuck was one of the loudest offenders. Sarah lowered her chin and looked at him over the top of her sunglasses. "Really?" she asked with a crooked smile.

"What can I say? I have the maturity of a twelve year-old."

"Hey!" Curtis called out defensively. The mock hurt on his face turned to an impish smile. "Mozart balls. Are they anything like monkey nuts?"

"Ha!" Chuck guffawed, giving Curtis a high five. "That's my boy!" Clearly impressed, Fred and Morgan laughed and slapped Curtis' upraised hand as well. Despite their best efforts, Lizzie, Lisa and Bridget laughed and shook their head at the guys' antics, but refrained from dispensing any high fives. Martie and Megan looked at each other and shrugged.

"I don't care what they're called," Casey said from the back of the group, "I want some." He and Chuck went inside the store and returned a few minutes, each carrying a box of twenty-five Mozartkugeln.

"Wow, Uncle Casey," Lisa said. "You must really like those. You bought a whole box for yourself?"

"Nah, bought 'em for my mom."

"Aww. You're such a good son," Lisa said, patting his arm. "Meanwhile, open up that box, Uncle Chuck. I want to try one." As they ambled back toward the other end of the _Getreidegasse_, everyone in the group ate one of the chocolate covered nougat and marzipan balls and then unanimously agreed it was the best candy any of them had ever tasted. Sarah also ended up with a pocketful of silver and blue foil wrappers.

They walked the length of the lane and came to stand in front of a tall rectangular building, the front of which was painted a goldenrod yellow. A long, thin Austrian flag with three stripes, two red and one white, hung down the front of the building from a pole attached to the wall near its top. Affixed to the façade between two rows of windows were large gold letters forming the words _Mozarts Geburtshaus_.

"Let me guess," Chuck said to his wife as they both looked up. "Mozart's birthplace?"

"Mm-hm."

"We need a picture of the two of us in front of this building and then we need to send it to Graham," he said. He wore that roguish grin that made it impossible for her to say no.

"I'm sure he'll cherish it always," she deadpanned.

"It seems only fitting since he was so pleased to hear us make our sightseeing plans during our debrief the other day." His droll tone matched hers. To Lizzie, he called, "Liz, can you come here and take our picture? Make sure you get the words in there." As Lizzie neared and held out her hand, he said with a grin, "Use your aunt's phone."

Sarah took off her sunglasses and crooked an eyebrow. "I'm not sure he's going to appreciate this as much as you think he might," she said as she handed her phone to their niece.

His grin widened. "The man needs to smile once in a while."

"That's true." They posed as Lizzie positioned herself for the best angle and took the picture. After checking to make sure the photo was acceptable, Lizzie handed the phone back to Sarah. She held it out so they could examine the picture. There they stood, side-by-side with their arms around each other, wearing happy, relaxed smiles. Even if the director didn't like it, she did. The flutter in her heart told her it was her new favorite picture.

"Okay, kids. Your aunt and I are calling for our PDA time."

Lisa's eyebrows shot up. "Here? Now?" Her head swiveled this way and that. "There are a lot of people here."

"Well, the 'P' does stand for 'public,'" he said with a straight face. When Lisa wrinkled her nose, he laughed and said, "I was thinking she and I, and whoever else wants to go with us, would go through the Mozart Museum here. Is that okay with you?" he asked Sarah.

"As long as everyone who doesn't go with us stays with Uncle Casey and Uncle Morgan." Gauging from the lack of interest on the kids' faces, she wasn't surprised when all them gravitated towards the two men.

"While you two go all long-haired and high-brow, we're gonna watch that 'oompah' band over there," Casey said.

Chuck and Sarah climbed the stairs and wandered through the rooms where Mozart was born and spent his first seventeen years of his life. They looked at different pieces of memorabilia from his life, including the violin he played as a child, several different keyboards and a number of portraits of him and his family members displayed on the walls.

While they were touring through the rooms, Sarah received a text from Agent Bauer informing her that her dress and Chuck's slacks had been repaired and returned to the house. In addition, the car Casey would drive them to the party in was now parked in the driveway. Within a minute of receiving the text from the BVT officer, Agent Vegas sent her one reiterating the information.

At his questioning expression, she said, "We're all set for tonight." Noticing his gulp, she gently squeezed his arm. To ease his obvious and sudden anxiety, her tone was warm and soothing. "You'll do great. I'll be right by your side the whole time. I promise."

His apprehension faded and was replaced by relief. "I guess it's time for us to go back and get ready then?"

She glanced at her watch. "Pretty soon. Let's have Vegas pick us up where he dropped us off in an hour. Sound good?"

"Mm-hmm. That will give us a little more time to explore Old Town."

Their plan for the rest of the day set, they left the museum and found the kids, Casey and Morgan still watching the lederhosen wearing brass band. The glare Casey shot at them when they rejoined the group told Sarah her partner didn't want to hear any more gibes about him wearing lederhosen and knee high socks.

They walked around Old Town a bit longer and as they started back toward the footbridge to cross the river, they passed a souvenir shop with a large movie poster for _The Sound of Music_ in the window. Maria ran with arms outstretched while the seven children—dressed in clothes made from curtains—loped along behind her. Laughter rose again when Fred took one look at the one-sheet and said in Admiral Ackbar's voice, "It's a von Trapp!"

~ O ~

As was usually the case whenever she got ready for an evening out with her husband, Sarah had an audience as she dressed for the night's mission. A running commentary was in full swing as well. The five girls chimed in their thoughts about her dress—all thought it was stunning—and her disguise. While Lizzie and Bridget thought the auburn wig with the bob and bangs was stunning and exotic, Lisa and Megan said they preferred their aunt blonde. Martie stayed neutral on the subject, other than to say she thought her aunt was beautiful no matter color her hair was. They all agreed, herself included, that Sarah with hazel eyes took some getting used to.

Looking in the mirror, she applied the wine colored lipstick and pressed her lips together. As a blonde, she usually stuck to lighter pink tones, but with the black dress, auburn hair and hazel contacts, she decided to go dramatic. Plus, it was one more element that could be considered part of her disguise.

She tossed the tube of lipstick in her purse atop her Smith and Wesson and other assorted spy gear she had stashed. Taking one last look in the mirror, she was happy with how different her appearance was. Striding out of the bathroom, she stood before the girls sitting the bed. "What do you think?"

"Wow, you look great. Uncle Chuck's going to be really surprised at how different you look," Lizzie said.

Bridget nodded with animated agreement and added, "It's too bad Uncle Chuck doesn't get to do a big makeover reveal for you."

"I needed to help him with his cufflinks and shirt studs," she replied. She stifled a chuckle when she recalled the fun Chuck had had with the word "stud" as she'd stood before him, her fingers nimbly fastening them in place. "I helped him put on his mustache and goatee with the spirit gum, but haven't seen him in the wig yet, so I'll get to have a partial reveal." The facial hair was dark blonde, as was the wig he refused to put on until the last minute.

She was about to leave the room and go downstairs when she noticed the furtive glances passing between the girls. Knowing right away something was on their minds, she sat down on the edge of the bed and asked in a gentle tone, "What's up?" She was pretty sure she already knew.

Lisa fingered the hem of her jeans. "We just got you back and now you're leaving again on another mission. And Uncle Chuck's going with you this time."

The apprehension and distress in Lisa's voice, along with the concern written on each of their faces tore at Sarah's heart. When Lisa fell silent, Sarah knew she couldn't voice what their unspoken fear was. _And you're afraid we won't come back_.

"I know it's soon and I understand how nervous you are about Uncle Chuck going with me tonight." She reached out and pushed a lock of Lisa's blonde hair behind her ear. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, but this is really important. There are bad guys in the world that want to do things that could end up hurting a lot of innocent people. We have to do whatever we can to stop them." Faced with stoic expressions, Sarah continued. "I wasn't very happy with the idea of Uncle Chuck going on this mission when the director brought it up, either. You know how protective I am of him." There was a smattering of knowing chuckles. "Please know I only agreed to allow Uncle Chuck be involved when I was sure he would be safe. We've taken lots of precautions." That included the bulletproof vest Chuck wore under his shirt and jacket. "I'll be there right next to him the whole time. And Uncle Casey and Agent Vegas will be there plus the two Austrian officers. So we have a lot of backup."

"Are Uncle Casey's trackers stuck on you?" Megan asked.

Sarah nodded. "All four of us have them." The relief from the girls was palpable. "If you want to see where we are, just ask Agent Barstow and he'll run the tracking program. Would that make you feel better?"

There were nods as somber faces began to brighten. "Really?" Bridget asked. "You'd let us do that?"

"Mm-hmm. At least until it's time for you to go to bed," she said with a smile. She wished she could promise them the mission would go exactly as planned and that they'd be home by eleven o'clock. She couldn't. There _was_ something she could tell them that was true, though. "When I was away the other night, thinking about you, your brothers and your uncle kept me from losing hope." Determination flamed in her chest. "So trust me when I say that no matter what, I'll do anything to make sure I—we—come back to you."

She studied each face. From the smiles of the two youngest, she knew their worries had been alleviated. In the older girls' faces, she still saw wariness, particularly in Lisa's. Sarah knew it wasn't that the older three didn't believe what she said. They knew how much she loved them all. It was that they were old enough to know things didn't always go the way they were supposed to. A tragic accident had taught them that at an all too young age. Returning safely to them was the only way to ease their worry. And that was what she was going to do.

She hugged and kissed the cheek of each of her girls, eliciting giggles from them when they saw the dark red stains on each other's faces. Sarah huffed a breath and teased, "Now I have to fix my lipstick." Winking at Lizzie, she said, "That shade looks good on you."

From downstairs, came an impatient bellow from Casey. "Come on, Wa—, Bartowski. Time to roll!"

"You heard the man. Time for me to roll." After tickling Martie and Megan with poking finger, she stood from the bed and snatched up her purse. "Let's go see what your uncle looks like in his disguise."

The girls jumped off the bed and hurried down the stairs ahead of her. She took them more slowly, given the combination of heels and long skirt. Taking a tumble down the stairs would not be an auspicious start to the evening.

When she stepped off the bottom stair, Chuck's back was turned toward her. When he spun to face her, she couldn't believe her eyes. He was nearly unrecognizable. She had already seen him with the fake mustache and goatee, but with the wig of short blond hair that covered his dark curls, he looked like a completely different man.

He seemed to be having a similar reaction to her altered appearance as well. He stood rooted to the floor, slack-jawed and motionless. "Uh, wow," he managed. "You look incredible."

Equally stunned, she said, "It's weird to hear your voice come from someone that doesn't look like you." She crossed the floor and stood in front of him. Her gaze roamed his face. "Thank you, by the way. You look pretty incredible, too."

His smile was filled with relief. "You think I look okay?"

"You look great."

His smile grew into the grin she knew and loved. "Could you even say, 'dashing'?"

"Yes," she answered with a sincere smile, reaching up to straighten is bowtie. "You are very dashing." She dropped her hand to his chest and patted it. "One more thing before we go." Stepping back, she took her phone from her purse. "I need a picture."

Fred snorted and called out from his place on the couch. "It's like you two are going to the prom or something."

"Not that kind of picture, Mr. Smartypants," she shot back drily. "We need a picture of him as Charles Carmichael to put on the fake Carmichael Industries website the techs at the Agency designed. Although, a prom picture might be fun, too." She held the phone up, ready to take a picture. With his face centered on the screen, she said, "Now, try to look like a titan of industry."

"You mean like this?" He smile dropped away, other than one side of his mouth that pulled back in a sexy smirk. His warm, brown eyes seemed to burn into her soul and when he crooked one lightened eyebrow, her heart skipped a beat. While it wasn't the expression she was expecting, she did like it very much, so she took the picture anyway and saved it for herself.

"Loving the smolder, Mr. Carmichael, but let's try to look a little more businesslike this time, shall we?"

He heaved a huge sigh and rolled his eyes. She knew he was vamping, not only to reassure the kids with a laid-back attitude, but to also cover up his nerves. This time, his expression was appropriately professional. She clicked the picture and forwarded it to the Agency tech guy who'd requested it.

Sarah had been so distracted by Chuck in his disguise she hadn't noticed Casey until he started pacing around like a caged tiger. He was their "chauffeur" for the evening. Their heavily armed chauffeur. "Where'd you get the suit, Casey?" It was utilitarian, black and slightly wrinkled.

"From the bottom of my duffel. I brought it just in case."

That explained the rumpled look.

"Come on, let's get a move on. Vegas' already got the van in position near the villa and I've got to get you two to this soiree."

He was right. It was time to go. After each kid received a hug and a kiss—and a general admonition to all to listen to Agent Barstow and Uncle Morgan—they left the house and closed the door behind them.

Casey took the driver's seat while Chuck and Sarah slid into the back. Before he started the car, Casey twisted in his seat and asked Chuck, "You got the flash drive with the Trojan horse on you?"

"Yeah," he answered, patting a hand on his chest, indicating it was in the inside pocket of his jacket. As she had predicted, Chuck looked nervous, his easy demeanor having disappeared.

Casey spun forward again and started up the car. Taking his hand in both of hers, she pulled it onto her lap. "You'll do great."

With his free hand, he slid a finger under his collar and tugged. "Are you sure?"

She hoped he could hear the confidence she had in him when she answered, "Yes, I am." She held his hand tighter. "I'm sure."


	37. Tuxedo Junction

**A/N**: Once again, I want to say, "Thank you." You all are the best. Keep those cards and letters coming.

Thank you, **AgentInWaiting** for your wonderful beta work on this chapter.

Without further ado...

**Chapter 37 – Tuxedo Junction**

A long line of large black cars snaked through the courtyard and down the lane, waiting to deposit their well-heeled passengers near the front door of Konrad Zeller's Salzburg villa. A young man dressed in black slacks and a smart short-waisted red jacket played traffic cop, stopping the cars that waited to pass through the imposing, heavy-looking wrought iron gate while waving along the ones that had just dropped off their occupants.

Once the courtyard emptied, the valet stepped back to allow the next group of cars to enter, including the long, black BMW sedan that carried Chuck and Sarah. After a couple of partygoers emerged from the lead vehicle, Casey slowly inched their car forward a few feet and stopped again. Now only two cars back from reaching their destination, the car idled next to a hedge-rimmed oval patch of grass located at the center of the courtyard.

From the back seat, Chuck and Sarah peered out the window at the front façade of the large Baroque manor house. "Impressive," she said.

"They like to paint houses that yellow color, don't they," Chuck said. "It's almost the same color as the Mozart building we saw earlier today."

"You're right," she answered. "Very observant, Chuck."

"Way to go, Bartowski," Casey said sardonically. "That'll come in handy at the next 'Where's Waldo' tournament."

Chuck's tone was mild when he answered, "We really need to do something about your angry center, Casey." Winking at Sarah, he added, "Maybe you need a hobby. You know, like needlepoint or building ships in bottles." He snapped his fingers and pointed at the major. "Oh! I know! You should grow a bonsai tree. Very zen."

"Sorry. I can't take care of a bonsai tree when it's shoved halfway up your colon."

"And the bonsai tree idea is now off the table," Chuck said, making a show of squirming in his seat. Whether he'd intended to or not, Casey had just helped Chuck _really_ relax for the first time since they left the safe house. "I still think you—"

"Can it, Bartowski," Casey growled, using the rearview mirror to glare at him in the back seat. "Time to put our earwigs in."

"He's right," Sarah replied. Before she slipped the device in her ear, she said to her husband, "Once we put our comms in, all six of us will be linked, including Bauer and Gruber. So—"

"—from here on out I'm Charles Carmichael," Chuck finished for her. With the barest hint of a smile, he said, "Chuck Bartowski _is_ Agent Charles Carmichael _as_ Mr. Charles Carmichael _in_ _I Married a Spy_."

"Something like that," she chuckled. "I have confidence in you, sweetie. You'll do great."

"You've only told him that about fifteen times in the last twenty minutes, Walker," Casey said, his penetrating glare shifting in the mirror to her. "The nerd'll be fine. He's got his tranq gun strapped to his ankle thanks to Barstow's holster." His eyes disappeared from the mirror when he turned his attention toward the car in front of them. "Just try not to wet yourself, Bartowski."

"Thank you for those wonderful words of inspiration, Casey," Chuck replied, his words laced with sarcasm. "Nice hat by the way." A too-small chauffeur hat sat perched on top the big man's head.

Casey snorted. "Big head, big brain," he replied as he let the car roll forward and then braked. Chuck's genuine laugh ended their sparring.

Peering out of the front of the car, Sarah saw that they were next. She turned to face Chuck, tenderly placed a hand on the side of his face and pulled it toward her as she leaned into him. While the bristly whiskers of his fake mustache and goatee were scratchy and foreign when she kissed him, his lips felt the same as they always did. She now knew for certain that other than the stubble she liked to rub her thumb over in the mornings, she preferred her husband clean-shaven. Leaning back, her eyes bored into his. "Ready?"

He swallowed, took a deep breath and huffed it out with a nod. "Ready."

The three simultaneously put their earwigs in. "Yoda, this is Boba Fett," Casey intoned. "You copy?" Since they were going into a house owned by known Fulcrum agent, there was a chance their comms could be picked up and overheard so they used codenames when speaking to each other. Sarah wasn't thrilled about adding yet another layer of identity for Chuck to keep track of—he already had plenty—so she chose names for the four Americans that would be easy for him to remember.

From her earpiece, she heard Vegas' voice. "Copy, Boba Fett."

Sarah nodded for Chuck to go ahead. "Uh, Han here," he said tentatively.

"Roger that, Han. Coming in loud and clear. You online, Leia?" Vegas asked.

"Affirmative, Yoda," she replied to Vegas. At first, Casey had adamantly refused to consent to using a Star Wars codename. The very idea of it had caused the ropey vein in his forehead to bulge and throb. Her husband had come to the rescue and persuaded Casey to use the name Boba Fett by reminding him that the character was a badass bounty hunter who captured Han Solo.

"Han and I will be entering the party momentarily. You copy, Wolfgang?"

"_Ja_," came the reply from Officer Gruber. "Constanze? Are you there?" he asked. When coming up with their codenames, Sarah had whispered to Chuck the idea of giving Officer Bauer the handle "Jar Jar." That little nugget had earned her a pleased and wicked grin from him. In the end, however, the decision was made to use Mozart and his wife's first names for the two Austrian officers.

"_Ja_. I am here."

"Okay, people," Vegas said from the van, "just a little reminder. Let's keep the chatter to a minimum. Copy?"

Five voices replied "Copy" and then all went silent. Casey swung the car around and brought it to a stop in front of two valets dressed in the same livery as the young man at the gate. With a white-gloved hand, one of the young men stepped forward, took the handle and pulled open the back door. Chuck exited first and then offered his hand to help his wife from the car. Taking it, she gracefully slid out and stood. The strains of a waltz wafted through the open front door.

"Good evening. Do you require a valet?" the young man asked in German.

"No, thank you," Sarah replied in the same language. "Our man will take care of it."

The young valet bowed and then shut the door. As the car slowly circled around the driveway toward the gate, Chuck and Sarah approached an official looking man in a black tuxedo standing to the left of the open door. Looking up from the iPad he held, he made eye contact with Chuck. "Your names please?"

Apparently Chuck was really starting to pick up the language because before Sarah could answer, he said, "_Herr und Frau_ Charles Carmichael."

The man's finger swiped across the screen of the iPad. "Ah, yes. Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael," he said, switching to English. Sarah supposed there must have been some kind of notation indicating she and Chuck were Americans. "Welcome and enjoy the party."

"_Vielen dank_," Chuck said and offered his wife his arm.

"Well done," she whispered as she curled her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked together through the door. The large foyer before them was filled with formally dressed men and women chatting and milling about. On both sides, staircases curved up, leading to balcony-like walkways that extended the length of each wall. Two pillars supported each walkway from underneath. Looking up, Sarah counted six closed doors along one walkway and four along the other. Any one of those could be Zeller's office. They had no idea of its location in the house since there were no blueprints or plans available.

Returning her attention to her immediate surroundings, she saw the antique white lobby they were in was stately and ornate. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling and a large oriental rug covered the parquet floor. Expensive looking vases sat atop antique side tables set against the walls between doors—some open, some closed—that led to other rooms.

Chuck and Sarah stepped together down four carpet-covered steps toward the center of the foyer. To their right, a set of double doors stood open, music spilling from the ballroom as couples flashed by as they danced.

"Swanky," Chuck said as he craned his neck around to take in the scene. She couldn't fault him seeming a bit awed by it all. She'd been to a number of these kinds of parties over the years and this one looked to be one of the most elegant and sophisticated she'd ever attended.

"Mm-hmm. Definitely posh," Sarah answered. She scanned the room, looking for Bauer. Her gaze fell on the other woman holding a silver tray and offering appetizers to a cluster of guests. The BVT officer was dressed in an identical uniform to what the other servers wore: black slacks, long-sleeved white dress shirt, black necktie and gold vest. "Constanze, do you have the location of the room?"

"Negative," came the answer as Bauer moved off to offer food to another group.

"Boba Fett, what's your location?" Sarah asked under her breath.

A server carrying a tray filled with glasses of white wine passed by. Chuck lifted two from the tray and handed one to Sarah.

"I'm with the Millennium Falcon. I'm parked on a side road about fifty meters north of the house."

At Casey's use of the name of Han Solo's spaceship, Sarah bit her lips together, but couldn't stop the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. _The nerds have claimed another one_, she thought. Chuck snorted and coughed into his glass as he took a sip of wine.

"Roger that, Boba Fett," Vegas replied. His amusement with Casey was evident, even if he didn't comment on it.

Chuck and Sarah continued toward the middle of the foyer, past small knots of guests laughing and chatting. Bauer met them and held out her tray. "_Liptauer Käse und Schwarzbrot_?" she asked. Daubs of paprika, mustard and caper laced soft goat cheese spread on top of small squares of rye bread and topped with chopped chives were carefully arranged on the silver platter.

"_Danke_," Chuck said and popped one in his mouth. "Mmmm, tasty," he said appreciatively and immediately snagged another. "Here, honey. Try one." He raised the hors d'oeuvre to Sarah's mouth and fed it to her. His eyes widened with alarm when he realized what he'd just done in front of Officer Bauer.

After swallowing the delicious bit of food, Sarah smiled pleasantly first at the frowning Bauer and then at Chuck. To remind the other woman of her and Chuck's cover—along with the added benefit of allowing them the freedom to be more affectionate with each other without Bauer causing them grief—Sarah leaned in and kissed his lips. "He's such a sweet and attentive _husband_." She then stared back at Bauer with an elevated eyebrow, hoping to drive home her point.

Bauer's frown deepened, but Sarah seemed to have made her point and got the BVT officer back on task. Dropping her voice, Bauer said, "I have checked all the rooms that can be entered from the lobby. I found an office, but did not see a computer."

"Maybe he uses a laptop and it's hidden in there somewhere," Sarah ventured.

"If he uses a laptop, it could be anywhere," Vegas replied. Sarah could tell he was frustrated at not having solid intel on the computer's location. This was a wrinkle she wasn't very pleased about, either.

"He might have a laptop, but I doubt it would have the code we're looking for on it," Chuck said before he scarfed down another appetizer. "Sophisticated encryption programs take up a ton of memory. Plus, you need serious CPU cores to compile the code. He uses a desktop."

Chuck's computer setup in his office at home certainly backed up what he was saying. Not that Sarah ever doubted what he said. Apparently, Casey was also confident in Chuck's pronouncement. "Okay, people. We're looking for a desktop," the ersatz chauffeur said.

Bauer's inability to remain focused on the mission reared its head again. "I hardly recognized you. I miss your curly hair under that wig," she said coyly to Chuck. "You _do_ look very handsome in your tuxedo tonight, though. The slacks are just the right length." After deciding against jabbing one of her knives through Bauer's spleen, Sarah held back a snort at the misplaced pride in the woman's voice. It wasn't as if she'd sat with a needle and thread and hemmed them herself.

After a groan from Casey, Sarah heard Gruber order with a growl, "Move along, Constanze. If you talk to them for too long, you will draw attention." Bauer's nostrils flared and her chin jutted out in defiance and annoyance. She did, however, do as she was told. Without another word, Bauer stepped away from the couple and began to once again circulate through the room.

Sarah said, "Well, we can't just start opening up doors to find his office." With her free hand, she fiddled with Chuck's tie and then smoothed her hand down the lapel of his jacket. "That's just bad form and we'd have security down our throats in no time. We need to introduce ourselves to Vader. Maybe during the course of our conversation, we'll pick something up that will give us the location of his computer." As she put the glass to her lips and pretended to take a sip, Sarah's gaze roamed the room looking for the host of the party. "Wolfgang, do you have a location on Vader?"

"I have not seen him in a while," Gruber said.

"Nor have I," Bauer chimed in.

"I guess we're in a holding pattern until Han and I can talk to him."

"There's only one thing for us to do until then," Chuck said with a smile. He drained his glass and took Sarah's from her hand. When a server passed by, he placed both glasses on the tray. Offering her his elbow, he shot her a sexy half-smile and waggled his eyebrows. "We waltz."

Grasping his arm, she asked in a rather stunned voice, "You know how to waltz?"

"Mm-hmm. My sister, Ellie, paid for the 'Fred Astaire Package.' I can tango, foxtrot, and waltz." His face and hair may have looked different due to his disguise, but the smolder in his eyes was the same. Fully deployed, it nearly made her swoon. When his voice dropped deep into his chest and he purred, "Both American and Viennese," she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

The music grew louder as they neared the entrance of the ballroom. Once inside, they both stood off to one side to simply take it all in. At the far end of the room, opposite its entrance, two sets of French doors stood open, allowing music to spill out and fresh summer evening air to flow in. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling; the light thrown from them making the gold gilded walls glow. Paintings of pastoral scenes with people dressed in eighteenth century clothes eating, dancing and enjoying country life were incorporated into the walls as if framed by the intricately curved moldings.

Sarah's gaze slid to the corner of the room where the small orchestra was positioned. There sat Officer Gruber, playing the viola. He was apparently a talented musician whose gift allowed him to go undercover at the fanciest of parties. How he was able to become a part of this particular gig, she didn't know. It might have been as uncomplicated as him being a regular member of the orchestra hired to play. It also could have been as nefarious as him insinuating himself as the "substitute" violist when regular one went "missing." It really wasn't her concern and she figured the less she knew about it the better. She just knew not to be too concerned if she and Chuck ran across someone tied up and locked in a closet with a viola lying next to him.

They waited until the current song finished before they went out onto the polished mahogany, oak and walnut dance floor and took their place. Sarah felt a chill run through when Chuck placed his right hand on her upper back, took her right hand in his left and held it out to the side. Resting her left hand on his shoulder, she was transported back to the night of the party at their house in Beaver Creek almost a year ago. Chuck had cut in when she'd tried to teach Curtis how to tango. When he had taken her in his arms and they shared that exhilarating dance, it was like nothing she'd ever experienced. The undeniable connection they already had with each other, their off-the-charts chemistry and the obvious mutual attraction to one another exploded in that one thrilling tango. At the end of the dance, while they were still in their final pose, they'd had their first kiss. Even now, Sarah's pulse quickened when she thought of how incredible it had been. At the time, in her confusion she'd run away from him. Never giving up on her, he'd gone after her and professed his love for her. For a time, she'd tried to fight her own feelings for him. It had been futile, of course, because deep down she knew she loved him, too. She had all along.

She blinked away her daydream and focused on her husband's face. In it, she saw a mixture of humor and curiosity. "Welcome back. Where did you go?"

Tipping her head to the side she answered, "I was just thinking about a tango I danced on an assignment about a year ago."

They, and the couples around them, stood on the floor, clasped hands up and heads held high as they waited for the music to begin. When it did, no one moved during the rather dramatic introduction.

His smile was both warm and discerning while his wink was nearly imperceptible. "A tango, huh? Those can get pretty steamy."

"Oh, it was intense alright. He was a surprisingly good dancer considering he was such a huge nerd."

A brilliant grin exploded across his face. "I didn't know nerds could dance. I thought they just played video games and read comic books and stuff." When the main musical theme of the waltz began, he took a step forward with his left foot and she stepped backward with her right. As he spun them to the right, she brought her feet together and then stepped forward with her left with him stepping backward and whirling again.

"I've come to learn there are a lot of things nerds can do," Sarah replied.

Rising and falling with the music, they twirled and rotated around the room, in perfect synch with the other couples on the dance floor. Unlike their tango, which had been so intense and dramatic and emotional, the waltz they were dancing now was lyrical and whimsical and flowing. Chuck easily guided them around the floor, occasionally reversing them so they spun in the other direction or turned Sarah under his upraised arm. She wasn't sure why—she knew she shouldn't be—but she was still surprised at what a good dancer he was.

"Interesting," he said with bouncing eyebrows. She could tell he was filtering out the overtly flirty comments bouncing around in his head. With four other people listening, they had to keep it tame and that made her more than a little sad. She loved their flirty banter. "So, Leia, how does my dancing rate?"

"Not bad," she replied, with a smirk. "You're right up there with the nerd."

"Whew," he breathed dramatically. "I wouldn't want to lose out to one of those."

The music grew more grand and majestic as they continued to gracefully glide around the floor. Chuck glanced at her. "Do you know the name of this waltz? I recognize parts of it, but I don't know what it's called."

Before Sarah could answer, Gruber spoke up as he played, "It is Strauss' _Wiener Blut_."

When she saw his eyes widen, Sarah immediately read the mischief written all over his face. He was ready to fire off a quip about the words "Wiener Blut" that Fred, Curtis and Morgan would have found hilarious. Knowing that the BVT officers either wouldn't like their language being the target of humor—no matter how innocent the intention—or simply wouldn't get the joke at all, Sarah hiked both eyebrows high and shot Chuck a "don't even think about it" look. He apparently caught her warning, since he stuck out his lower lip in a pout, prompting her to shake her head with a laugh. Had they been alone, she had any number of fun and interesting ways to wipe that pout off his face. Given their present circumstances, however, she would simply have to ignore it.

When the music reached a crescendo and ended with a flourish, Chuck leaned Sarah back in a deep dip. Pulling her upright, they hugged as they laughed and then joined in as all the dancers applauded the musicians and each other.

"Okay, you two have had your fun," she heard Casey growl through her comm. "Let's get this op moving again."

"Yes, I agree," Bauer said, her voice laden with irritation. "I think that's more than enough dancing."

One side of Sarah's upper lip lifted in a tiny snarl. "Fine. We need to speak with Vader before we can do anything else. Is he in the foyer? Do you know where he is?"

The silence stretched on for so long that the music for the next waltz began to play. "No," Bauer finally answered.

"Until we can talk to him, then, we'll continue to be regular guests," Sarah said. Her tone was final and no one dared to question her. Chuck immediately got the message, swept her up in his arms and began to guide her around the dance floor again. His eyes were filled with tenderness and understanding when he mouthed, "Don't let her get to you."

She suddenly realized her face had been pinched into a fierce scowl when she felt it relax and soften into an affectionate smile. He brightened, spun her under his arm and pulled her back to him so that their bodies crashed dramatically into each other, causing them both to grin. It probably wasn't a standard waltz move, but she didn't care. She knew it reminded them both of their tango.

It surprised her, though, when he began to softly sing with the music in his lovely baritone voice. "I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. Yes, I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem." He stopped singing when the music changed from its sweeping, lyrical melody to become more staccato and grand. He grinned at the surprised look on her face as they glided around the room. "I guess you weren't expecting that."

"Not exactly, no," she answered feeling a bit weak in the knees. His singing always seemed to affect her like that. "I didn't know the waltz from Tchaikovsky's _The Sleeping Beauty_ had words to it."

"The version in the Disney movie does. I don't know much about Tchaikovsky's, other than the fact that we're obviously hearing it now."

She winked at him. "Are you in the habit of watching a lot of Disney princess movies?" She tried to keep her tone serious, but was unable to stop the hint of teasing that seeped through.

"Of course. I know them all," he said proudly.

"And why is that?"

"I have some little people in my life that enjoy them."

Sarah assumed the gasp she heard over her comm escaped from Bauer. _If she only knew_. "You have kids?" This time she recognized the exasperated groan she heard as coming from Casey. She could practically see him dragging a hand across his face in absolute disgust.

"My sister's kids. I hang out with them a lot."

"Ah, I see. How many are there?"

"What? Kids or Disney princess movies?"

She playfully slapped his shoulder and smirked. "Kids. How many nieces and nephews do you have?"

"Seven."

"Seven! All in one family?"

"Mm-hmm. Five girls and two boys."

"Wow. That's a lot of kids."

"You get used to it," he said with a sly grin. "Anyway, a few years ago, one of the nieces got a CD of princess songs for her birthday. Let's just say it got played a lot."

She knew from personal experience what that meant: over and over on repeat. She made a mental note to ask him later which of the girls it had been.

"It drove the boys crazy. Every time I went anywhere with them in the car, that princess CD played." he said, continuing the story. "Then one fateful day, the music stopped." With a hint of foreboding, he said, "The CD went missing."

"It just disappeared? I assume you looked for it."

"Yeah. We looked all over. Never did find it." Shooting her a suggestive look, he said, "I have my suspicions about what happened to it. About the time it went missing, somebody mysteriously dug a hole in the backyard and then filled it back up."

She laughed out loud. There was no doubt in her mind as to who the hole-digging culprits were. Clearly, Fred and Curtis had buried their sister's CD.

Apparently, Vegas and Gruber had enjoyed the story, too. Through her earwig, she heard them both snickering. Casey huffed an amused grunt while Bauer's silence was deafening.

They continued to dance and when the music built toward the climax, Chuck spun them around in place and then stopped them suddenly as the music ended. Much like the end of their tango, their faces were inches apart and their panting breaths mingled together. His eyes, so full of love and adoration, captured hers. Electricity seemed to arc between them and her lips were drawn to his like a bee to honey.

"May I?" he asked, his voice rumbling softly from deep within his chest. "It would be good for our cover. I mean, we _are_ supposed to be married."

Her gaze dropped to his lips and she nodded haltingly. "Yes, of course. For the cover."

Nodding slowly in return, he leaned into her. Their lips came together in a sweet, yet restrained kiss. It was all too short, but they were in the middle of the dance floor and didn't want to draw _that_ much attention to themselves. Even so, had anyone looked closely at their faces, they would have found them glowing with contented smiles.

He released her and they took a step back from each other. "It's a little warm in here," Chuck said. "Let's go out back for a few minutes to cool off."

Sarah took his proffered arm and walked with him toward the open French doors. As they left the ballroom, she peeked over her shoulder at Gruber who was busy shuffling and arranging sheets of music on his stand. If he saw their display of affection, he made no indication. She hoped the "cover" comment had adequately explained it.

As they walked through the doors and out onto a small patio, Casey growled, "Quit stalling. I get the feeling you're enjoying this a little too much."

"What's the big hurry, Boba? You got plans later?" Chuck asked. "Maybe looking to hook up at the Mos Eisley Cantina?"

"Cut the crap, Han," came Casey's annoyed response.

"Okay, boys," Sarah said, verbally stepping between them. "That's enough. We're just going to go out for a few minutes." They turned to the left and went down a few steps that led to another patio. "Constanze, have you tracked down Vader yet?"

"Affirmative. He is in the kitchen conferring with his chef."

The couple walked past an outdoor table and turned right down another short set of steps. "We can't talk to him now then, anyway." As they walked across the tiled terrace, Sarah looked up to see a sparkling lake before them. On the other side of the lake, lanterns dotted the edge, casting long trails of shimmering light on the water.

Together, they continued past the manicured shrubs and stone benches present on either side of the terrace and reached the low, wrought iron gate at the edge of the water. Hanging branches of a weeping willow swayed in the warm breeze that drifted past them. Stopping at the gate, they stood and silently gazed at the beauty before them.

Chuck gently pulled Sarah to stand in front of him and wrapped his arm around her from behind. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he said quietly, "It takes your breath away, doesn't it?"

Putting her hands on the arms snugly around her, she leaned her head back against his shoulder and stared up at the tiny pinpricks of starlight that dotted the darkened sky. "Mm-hmm."

After a minute of silence, Chuck asked, "What _are_ those?" Sarah lifted her head to inspect one of the identical sculptures that sat atop the two stone posts the gate hinges were anchored in to. "Are they horses? The front half is a horse, but the back half of them is like a mermaid's tail." He lifted his chin from her shoulder and his voice grew more excited. "Maybe they're merhorses? Can you call them that? No, now that I think about it, it's not mermaids. The backs are more like sea serpents. Maybe they're seahorse serpents."

Casey's impatience with Chuck's curiosity turned surly when he grumbled, "You gonna yammer like that the whole time you're out there?"

"Probably," Chuck answered without hesitation.

"Well, I don't want to hear it. If you're going to babble, take your earwigs out for a few minutes and let the rest of us keep our sanity."

Sarah loved the idea of being able to spend a few private moments outside with Chuck. It didn't matter if that was Casey's intention or not. She jumped at the opportunity. "That's actually a good idea," she said. "There are a couple of things Han and I need to discuss regarding what's coming up, and I think it would be best if it wasn't done on an open channel."

"Roger that," Vegas said from the van. "By the way, Han and Leia, I just got a sitrep from C-3PO. He's fine. That bad _wurst_ is out of his system."

"Copy," Sarah replied. "Thanks for the update." They had previously told Bauer and Gruber that Barstow had eaten a sausage that didn't agree with him and that was why he had remained at the house and not in the van with Vegas. The report just given told Sarah that Barstow was doing fine with the kids. "Tell him we're glad to hear it and we'll see him soon."

Bauer's voice turned squeaky and peevish. "I do not think it is a good idea for them to be out of contact with us. What do they have to talk about that the rest of us should not hear?"

"I see nothing wrong with partners taking a few minutes alone to regroup and prepare before the next step," Gruber said.

"I still do not think—"

"We'll let you know when we're back online," Sarah said, talking over Bauer's objection. The other woman continued to speak as Sarah removed her earwig. Turning around in Chuck's arms, she reached up, took the one from his ear and dropped them both in her purse. Then she put her hand around the back of Chuck's neck, pulled his head down and gave him a mind-blowing, toe-curling kiss. His arms tightened around her, both of them finally giving in to the kiss they'd held back on after their waltz.

When the kiss ended, Sarah swallowed hard and rasped, "Best cover ever."

Despite his stupor, a slow, pleased, dreamy smile crept across his face. "Yeah?"

She reached up and rubbed her thumb across his lips, attempting to remove the residual lipstick. "Yeah." When she finished her ministrations, they turned and strolled along the grass path that ran along the edge of the lake. Not far away was a glass enclosed gazebo.

He took her hand and tucked it safely in his arm. "Care to share why that is? Or should I just take your word for it?"

She remained silent, giving herself a moment to order her thoughts. "I don't talk about past missions much, but I think you know this isn't the first time I've been undercover as a married woman with her spouse at one of these kinds of parties." She sneaked a sidelong peek at him when she felt his fingers resting atop her hand twitch.

He kept his eyes straight ahead when he answered, "Yeah. I kinda figured."

Her mouth went dry, afraid she'd wandered into an emotional minefield. "And yes, I acted like the loving wife with my partners on those missions, just like I'm now with you." When she saw his shoulders lower, just a bit, she stopped and stepped in front of him. Looking into his face, she said softly, "The difference is with you, I'm not acting." In the moonlight, she watched the clouds disappear from his eyes. "Do you remember when I came back from the Benoit mission, how I told you I kept thinking about you and missing you and wishing you had been at the party right next to me?"

She breathed a relieved sigh when his smile returned. "I seem to recall that I was to be James Nerd."

"Mm-hmm. I knew you'd fit in and I was right. You've turned out to be an excellent Nerdy James Bond." She took his arm again and they started sauntering along the path. "Can I just say that this is so much better than I ever dreamed it would be? Of course the mission is the main thing, but I love that you're here with me." She smirked and added, "Even if we are at the house of a man who works for the evil cabal that tried to have you killed last year."

He huffed a quiet laugh and squeezed her hand. "I'm not worried about that. I know you'll protect me. Plus, no matter what else happens tonight, it's been totally worth it for the dancing and rockin' appetizers."

"See?" she said with a smile. They stepped through the entrance of the gazebo, stopped again and faced each other. "This is what I mean. They may have been trained spies, but it was never this easy with any of my other partners. You make me feel comfortable." After a brief pause, she lowered her gaze and added, "Safe."

With a finger under her chin, he raised her face and brushed his lips across hers with a light kiss. She stepped closer and intensified it. For a moment, she allowed herself to fully enjoy the romantic setting: the lake, the gazebo, the moonlight, the music from the ballroom carried on the warm breeze, the feeling of his mouth on hers, the passionate kiss they shared. But when the matter of why they were there niggled at her and pushed its way to the forefront of her mind, she reluctantly mumbled against his lips, "We still have the mission."

He pressed his forehead against hers and nodded. "And you're afraid if we don't end this now, the only mission we'll accomplish is fogging up the windows of this gazebo?"

While the idea of doing just that appealed to her very much, she sighed, "Yeah."

"Look at it this way. The sooner we get this mission done, the sooner we can pick this up again." He straightened and looked at her from lowered eyelids. "Without the mustache and goatee."

A smile broke over her face. "Deal." She took a half step back from him, opened her purse and fished out their earwigs. Before she dropped Chuck's in his upturned and awaiting palm, she said in a soft voice, "I love you."

He pecked her lips and whispered, "I love you, too." He took the communication device from his hand and held it up. "Ready?"

She pinched hers between her fingers and mirrored him. "Ready."

At the same time, they slipped their comms into their ears. Sarah took Chuck's hand and led him from the gazebo. As they walked toward the steps that would take them back to the main foyer, Sarah said, "Han and Leia are back online."

"Roger that," Vegas intoned. Sarah also heard an unimpressed grunt from Casey.

"I must say that I am surprised at the unprofessional way you two were acting out there. I happened to look out the back and saw you _kissing_." Bauer sounded angry enough to spit venom and literally hissed the final word.

"You just said the word, Constanze," Chuck replied mildly. Sarah had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing when he looked at her with widened eyes, slowly shaking his head and saying, "We were acting."

"It was for the cover." Sarah tone was firm, while at the same time she tightened her grip on Chuck's hand.

"I still don't see how _that_ is so important, that you had to kiss. I saw you walking to the gazebo, too, and I—"

Sarah began to wonder if Bauer had gone beyond aggressive pursuer to borderline stalker. The sooner she and Chuck could finish up with the assignment and move on and get away from the woman, the happier Sarah would be.

With a sharp tone, Gruber cut Bauer off. "If you were watching them that closely, you were not doing your job. For instance, do you know the current whereabouts of Vader?"

As Sarah and Chuck reached the top of the steps and entered the main room, Gruber's question was met with angry silence.

"It is a good thing I do know, then," the BVT officer said pointedly. "He is just leaving the ballroom and going into the foyer," Gruber informed them.

Sarah turned her gaze toward the ballroom doors and watched Zeller as he entered the room. Having studied his photo before the mission, she recognized him immediately. He looked to be in his late forties with a small mustache and hair greying at his temples. He wasn't particularly tall, but he stood straight with his shoulders back. His tuxedo was sharp and impeccable. Even from across the room, Sarah noticed a formality and dignity in his manner as he shook hands with and greeted his guests. He seemed to be a very precise, no-nonsense man.

They wound their way past a group of chatting guests and stopped in the center of the room. Turning to Chuck, she smiled at him and asked, "Shall we go introduce ourselves to our host?"

With the tricky part of the mission now imminent, uncertainty flashed in his eyes. Sarah rested her hand on his bicep. Lowering her chin, she stared into his eyes with an unwavering gaze. That—along with a tiny nod and the gentle squeeze she gave his arm—was apparently the silent reassurance he needed. He stared back into her eyes and replied, "Yes. Let's."

Taking Chuck's arm again, she negotiated their way through the crowd toward Herr Zeller. When Sarah caught Zeller's eye as he glanced over the shoulder of the person he was speaking with, his face registered no recognition of them. She watched as he excused himself with a slight bow and walked toward them.

"Good evening and welcome to my home," he said in German. Looking from Sarah to Chuck, he said, "I am Konrad Zeller. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance."

"Good evening, Herr Zeller," Sarah responded in his language and offered her hand to shake. "We're Charles and Sarah Carmichael." After shaking her hand, Zeller gripped Chuck's. "Thank you for inviting us to your lovely party. You have such a beautiful home."

"Thank you," he said, now speaking English. His smile, while not suspicious, was reserved and didn't reach his eyes. "It is my honor to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael. Thank you for your generous donation to the _Salzburg Festspiel_."

"You're very welcome," Chuck said, surprising Sarah with his boldness. "We were in Berlin recently and enjoyed a performance of _The Magic Flute_. We're both fans of Mozart, of course," he said as if everyone in the world was, "so when we learned of the opportunity to support the arts and music of Salzburg, his hometown, we jumped at the chance, didn't we, honey?"

Chuck had certainly taken the character of Charles Carmichael to heart and so far, was doing a bang up job. Since the circumstance warranted a warm response—and because he certainly deserved it—she bestowed on him a dazzling, heartfelt smile. "We certainly did, sweetheart."

Zeller's own smile turned warm and authentic. It was clear he loved the _Festspiel_ and was truly happy that others wanted to support it, too. Sarah thought it was too bad he was connected with Fulcrum, although she supposed that even bad guys enjoyed the arts. With the mission in mind, getting on Zeller's good side could only help their cause and thanks to Chuck, they were well on their way.

"Ach, I adore _Die Zauberflöte_. I am so drawn to Sarastro. He is presented as an evil sorcerer and kidnapper at the beginning of the opera, but as the story progresses, it becomes clear that he is wise and benevolent. He only kidnapped Pamina to save her from her evil mother and pair her with Tamino so the two could usher the world out of superstition and into enlightenment." He stood straighter and said with conviction, "There are times when one must take action for a noble cause that others might construe as unethical."

_The ends justify the means. How Machiavellian_, Sarah thought. Of course, she had to admit to herself that there was an element of that to her job as well. What she and Chuck were doing at that very moment—deceiving Zeller to gain clandestine access to his computer—was sure to be viewed by some as wrong. Both sides tread in grey areas. She wondered if Zeller knew just how debased Fulcrum's intentions were, or if like Shaw, Zeller saw himself as a true patriot doing what he thought was needed when governments he perceived as soft and gutless failed to act.

"I'm sure there are times like that, yes," Chuck answered tactfully. Since he seemed to be building a nice rapport with Zeller, Sarah decided to let him take the lead and see where the conversation went.

"Is there a character from the opera that resonates with you?" Zeller asked.

"As a matter of fact, there is. I really felt a connection to Papageno."

Zeller smiled. "You are a bird catcher?"

Chuck shook his head with a quiet laugh. "No. Not quite." He hesitated, like he wasn't sure he wanted to share. "I recently had something very precious and irreplaceable taken away from me for a time. I was lost without it." Sarah's stomach churned, knowing he was talking about her kidnapping by Blond Russian Guy. She watched Chuck's face as his attention stayed on Herr Zeller. "When I was at my lowest point, I thought about Papageno. When his world was bleak and he thought he couldn't go on, help came along and everything turned out okay. I hoped the same thing would happen for me and it did."

Enraptured by Chuck's story, Zeller asked, "The thing that had been taken, it was returned?"

"It was," he answered, his voice thick. "And having lost it, now that I have it back, it's even more valuable to me. I'll never let it go again." He was looking at Zeller, but he was speaking to her. His words touched her heart and soul. She swallowed at the lump that had suddenly grown in her throat and blinked back the sting at the back of her eyes. She entwined her fingers with his and tenderly rubbed her thumb across the top of his hand.

"Ah, what a wonderful story. Such is the power of music. These kinds of stories are why it is so important that the _Salzburg Festspiel_ and festivals like it endure." Zeller appeared to be enjoying their conversation and didn't seem to be in any hurry to move on. While Sarah hadn't gotten any helpful intel yet, the more they spoke with Zeller, the higher the likelihood of hearing something of use. "Tell me, Mr. Carmichael. What do you do?"

"I'm the majority stockholder and CEO of Carmichael Industries. My granddaddy started off in oil years ago. While we still are in oil, we're currently diversifying into doing more with alternative energy sources."

Sarah continued to be impressed with the way Chuck was handling Zeller. He didn't parrot word for word what he'd been told what Carmichael Industries was about. He'd learned it and made it his own. Now that she thought about it, he had a knack for adjusting to anything, whether it was becoming the sole parent to seven small children, having a CIA spy suddenly dropped into his life or being a computer nerd pretending to be a spy pretending to be a business tycoon. He was quite remarkable.

"Interesting. Are you here in Europe for business then?"

"We've managed to mix both business and pleasure," Sarah answered.

Zeller turned to her and asked, "Do you work at Carmichael Industries, too, Mrs. Carmichael?"

"Yes, I do. I work in the sustainable energy side of the company. There's a large market of consumers who would like to use solar generated electricity for their homes and businesses, but the initial capital outlay for the collection panels can be prohibitive. Rather than sell the panels, we lease them. It gives us a steady, predictable income while the homeowners and the power grids benefit."

"Impressive. You must be very busy people. Do you have children?"

"We don't. Not yet anyway. We're hoping to soon, though," she said with a shy smile and ignoring the disgusted snort in her earpiece. While it could have been from Casey, her money was on Bauer. Sarah did have a sudden inspiration, though, and pounced on the opening Zeller had just given her. "As a matter of fact, Charles and I were just discussing how we would like to build a weekend home in the mountains. We'd love a place where we could get away and take our kids, once we have them. Weren't we, honey?"

He looked at her and answered without hesitation, "Yes, we were."

"We wouldn't build anything this grand, of course, but I really like the layout of your house," she said. "This large foyer is so elegant. And the high ceiling with the open walkways make it so light and spacious." She gazed around the room as if deep in thought. "If you don't mind me asking, Herr Zeller, are all the rooms upstairs bedrooms or do you use some for other purposes? An office or library perhaps?"

"Most are bedrooms, yes, although I have a study upstairs. The library is right over there," he said, pointing to a door on the left, "and my formal office is next to it."

"I hate to impose," Sarah said, sounding apologetic, "and if it's too forward, please feel free to say no, but would it be okay for Charles and me to do a little exploring?" She looked to Chuck and then back to Zeller. "I'm sure we'd both like to get a better idea of the layout of the house."

Nodding, Chuck added, "And picture where the nursery would go, the game room…" His voice trailed off when a young man approached and stopped a discreet distance away.

Zeller glanced at him and said, "Please excuse me for a moment." He waved the aide closer and inclined his head, inviting the young man to deliver his information in a hushed tone. After a quiet conversation in German, the assistant left and Zeller looked back to Chuck and Sarah. "The director of the _Festspiel_ would like a word with me." He shook their hands again and said, "I am very pleased to have you to tour my home. While I usually don't allow visitors upstairs, I will inform my men to allow you to explore. I wish I could show it to you myself, but my duties as host do not allow me the time. It was a pleasure to meet you both. Thank you for your generous donation to the _Festspiel_." With a final bow of the head, he said, "Please, eat, drink, dance and enjoy the party."

"Thank you, we will," Chuck answered.

Zeller spun on his heel and directed a gesture toward one of his men, pointing to the upper level and then to Chuck and Sarah as he walked away. Once their host was absorbed in conversation with presumably the director of the festival, Chuck drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly in relief. The tightness in Sarah's shoulders loosened and she turned to face her husband. Rising up on her toes, she kissed his cheek and then brushed her lips against the ear without the comm device. "You were fantastic," she said in little more than a breath.

He wrapped his arm around the small of her back to keep her close. Into her ear he replied just as quietly, "Thank you. That's something a husband _always_ likes to hear from his wife."

"Okay, you heard the man," Casey said, interrupting their moment. "You got permission to check things out upstairs. Get moving."

"Always so impatient," Chuck grumbled, releasing Sarah. Looking up, he craned his neck and said, "Which hallway do we check out first? Left or right?"

She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Right?"

"Right it is," he said as they walked together toward the center set of steps. Once they reached the landing near the front door, they turned and started up the staircase that curved up to their right. With one hand, Sarah lightly touched the banister of highly polished wood and white painted ironwork and with the other she lifted the front of her skirt a couple of inches to keep her from tripping. Coming to the first door, Chuck reached out, twisted the knob and pushed it open. Sarah stepped into the room with her husband following right behind her. "We're going to need to step into each room, even if it's just for a minute," she instructed him under her breath. "Otherwise, if we just open and close the doors, it's obvious we're looking for something."

"Got it." His gaze traveled around the room. "Nice bedroom. It's kind of small, though. It would work to have one kid in it, but not two."

She couldn't help but smile. If there was anyone who knew what size bedrooms needed to be for kids, it was Chuck. They left the first room, walked down the hall and came to the second. It was larger than the first and decorated for mature guests. "Do you think maybe this room is for his parents to stay in?" Sarah wondered aloud. As they made their way down the hallway, behind the next three doors was a bathroom, a sitting room and another bedroom.

When Sarah reached for the doorknob of the last door, she heard muffled noises coming from inside the room. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder at Chuck who made a face and shrugged. Quietly pushing the door open, she poked her head into the room. When she beheld two people engaged in a frenzied and exuberant tussle on top of the bed, she immediately yanked her head back and shut the door. Chuck cocked his head in silent questioning.

She took his hand and pulled him around the corner and down the hall toward the other corridor of rooms. "Let's put it this way," she said once they were clear, "I'm just glad they still had some clothes on." Thinking about the shoes strewn on the floor and the tuxedo jacket flung haphazardly across a chair, she added, "Although by the looks of things, they weren't going wearing them for much longer."

"Ah," was his only response. Vegas, Gruber and even Bauer snorted laughs while Casey muttered something about someone "finally getting a taste of their own medicine."

The first room they explored in the second corridor was another small bedroom. "We haven't found the master bedroom yet, but if it's close, this room would make a perfect nursery," Chuck said. He pointed to one wall. "The crib would go there. You don't want it right under the window although a rocking chair would work." Spinning to point the other way, he continued. "A dresser on that wall and a changing table over there and you're all set." The way he talked about the would-be nursery in such a certain and matter-of-fact way made her pulse skyrocket. She felt mostly excitement, but couldn't deny it was mixed with dash of apprehension.

Returning her gaze, he shrugged and grinned sheepishly. The sweet earnestness on his face and the twinkle in his eyes drove away the trace of anxiety she'd felt a moment before. Her heart fluttered at the thought of the two of them standing in a real nursery of their own. She hoped her smile and the quick kiss she gave him told him she wanted it as much as he did.

Tugging him into the hall, she led him on to the next door. Sarah tentatively opened it and peered inside. It was the master bedroom, thankfully without occupants. It wasn't as big as their room back home in Beaver Creek, but it was large enough to have a bed, dresser and armoire. Since they did have carte blanche to check out the upstairs, Sarah decided to do some quick investigating in Zeller's bedroom.

"Han, see if there's anything interesting in the armoire," she instructed. Chuck obliged while she checked under the bed and quickly rifled through the drawers of the dresser. Only finding neatly folded and arranged underwear, socks, pajamas and the like, she went to look in the drawer in the nightstand. Before she did, she peeked into the en suite bathroom. "It's actually kind of odd that a grand old house like this has such a modern bathroom in the bedroom."

"It has been updated and remodeled, then. It is not uncommon for estates such as this one," Gruber said.

"Make sense," Chuck said as he closed the door to the armoire. "Nothing in there."

Sarah opened the drawer of the nightstand to find Zeller's "junk drawer." It was filled with electronic gadgets, old cell phones, batteries of different sizes and varieties, battery chargers, a key fob and a small flashlight. Chuck's nightstand drawer at home held similar objects, only his was a jumbled mess. It didn't surprise her that Zeller's was as neat and orderly as everything else in the room. She was about to close the drawer when the corner of her eye caught a subtle change. Taking a closer look at the fob at the front right corner of the drawer, she saw that it had a small LCD display with a string of six numbers. She'd noticed when the numbers had suddenly changed. She picked it up and closed the drawer.

"Take a look at this," she said, holding it out for Chuck to examine. "I noticed it when the numbers on the front changed."

"It's a computer security device. It generates a new password every sixty seconds or so."

"The password to his computer?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. These are usually used for when someone needs to log onto a secure network. The server at the other end has the password changed at the same time. You have a minute to type the correct number in before it changes again. It's hard to know what it's for, if anything, until we find his computer and know what his setup is." Chuck's eyebrows pulled together. "I'm a little surprised it's just sitting in a drawer."

"Sometimes the best place to hide something is in plain sight. On the other hand, it's with a bunch of electronic gadgets that looked kind of obsolete, so it might be, too."

"It can't hurt to take it with us, just in case," Chuck said.

"I agree." She handed him the fob which was promptly dropped in the front pocket of his slacks.

They left the master bedroom and went out into the corridor. "That's weird," Chuck said. "There are only two more doors. The other side has more rooms."

"I think we may have found the office," she said when she was unable to turn the doorknob. "I need to pick the lock. Wolfgang, Constanze, where's Vader?"

"He's in the ballroom," Gruber replied.

"He's dancing?" she asked.

"_Ja_. We are halfway through _Frühlingsstimmen._"

Focusing on the music, she heard Strauss' _Voices of Spring_ playing and realized that only gave them a few more minutes. That would be enough time to pick the lock, but they needed Zeller occupied while Chuck worked on the computer.

"Stand right there," she told Chuck as she moved him to stay in front of where she would be working and spun him so he faced away from the door. As she started to work on the lock, she said, "Wolfgang, we need more time. What can you play to make sure Vader stays in the ballroom? Have you played the _Emperor Waltz _yet?"

"The _Kaiserwaltzer_ is to be the last waltz of the evening," he replied.

"Okay. What are you playing next? How about a _ländler _to keep him dancing?"

"Similar. _Tales from the Vienna Woods_."

Sarah heard a click and turned the knob. "Good. That should keep him waltzing for a while yet. Let us know if leaves the ballroom." She opened the door, grabbed Chuck by the back of the jacket and yanked him through the doorway.

"_Ja_," came Gruber's reply as Chuck stumbled backward and fell into her. She caught him and once he was steady on his feet, she quickly shut and locked the door behind them.

Unlike the other rooms where it had been okay to turn on the lights, the office lights had to stay off since she and Chuck weren't supposed to be there in the first place. There was some light coming in through the three square windows in the room, but it really wasn't enough to see well. Sarah found her phone tucked away in her purse and opened the flashlight app. She held up the phone and swept the beam from the tiny light around the room. "We found a computer," she informed everyone. "Hope this is the right one." It sat on top of a desk in the middle of the room.

They both moved to the desk and Sarah illuminated the computer for Chuck until he was able to get it turned on with the monitor glowing in the dark.

Once Chuck was busy working at the computer, Sarah moved the beam of light around studying the room. It was long, narrow and had clearly been remodeled from three bedrooms to make one larger room. In addition to the desk, a tall bookshelf stood against one wall while shorter ones lined the long back wall with the windows. The bedroom doors that had once opened into the hallway were now gone. That explained why it looked like there were fewer rooms off that corridor. On the wall at the far end of the room opposite the bookshelves stood a built in bar. Several cut crystal decanters containing various amber liquids were arranged on top of the counter and sparkled as her light passed over them.

The office they were in was directly above the ballroom, so Sarah easily heard when one waltz ended and the next began. After peeking behind a painting on the off chance there was a safe behind it, and being disappointed when there wasn't one, she checked in on Chuck's progress. Standing behind him, she found her nerd in deep concentration. His eyes were glued to the monitor and as he typed rapidly at the keyboard, he kept a mumbled running monologue with himself.

"How's it going?" she asked as she turned off the flashlight.

"Good. The fob we found was for the password to log into the computer. It would have taken much longer without it." Without looking up, he said, "Still, it will take me a few minutes to find the code I need to download." He grew silent as he scrolled through the list of files. "Although if I have time, there are some other chunks of code I might want to grab," he murmured more to himself than to her.

They both were silent as he hunted for the code. The only sound in the room was the music coming from the ballroom below. When another minute passed, Sarah's nerves started to kick in. She was just beginning to wonder how much longer they could stay in the office before she'd have to abort the mission when Chuck said, "Found you, you bugger." He took the flash drive from his jacket pocket and stuck it into the USB port. After some typing and mouse clicks, he said, "It's downloading now. It's a pretty big file, so it will take a couple of minutes."

Still standing behind Chuck, she watched the progress bar slowly fill as the file downloaded. Seeing how nervous he was when his knee bounced and his palms rubbed back and forth on his thighs, she massaged his shoulders as best she could, given the straps of the bullet proof vest he wore hindered her. Her touch seemed to calm him since both his knee and hands stilled.

When the bar filled and the file was one hundred percent downloaded onto his flash drive, he released a gusty breath. "Got the file. Now I just need to upload the malware and we're done." He typed some keystrokes and the progress bar returned.

Even though the same waltz continued, Gruber suddenly said, "Vader just left the ballroom."

Sarah felt the surge of adrenaline flood her system. "Constanze, do you have eyes on Vader? Where is he? What's he doing?" Her grip on Chuck's shoulders tightened.

"He is speaking with two men at the bottom of the stairs."

"No problem," Vegas said. "Hang tight until they move away. We'll let you know when it's clear."

"Copy," Sarah said in a low voice.

"Vader is pointing up toward the office you are in," Bauer said.

"I'm on my way with the car," Casey barked.

Sarah's jaw clenched as she looked at the progress bar. It was at ninety percent.

Bauer's commentary continued. "The three of them are moving up the stairs."

The bar was at ninety-five percent. "Come on, come on," Chuck urged the bar on quietly.

"We can't wait for it to finish." Sarah withdrew her Smith and Wesson from her purse.

"It's almost there."

"Take the drive out," Sarah ordered. "We need to hide. Now."

"It's almost there. Ninety-eight percent," he said.

"They have reached the top of the stairs."

"Come on!" Sarah growled, grabbing at Chuck's arm and trying to lift him from his chair.

"Done!" Chuck shouted in a whisper. His movements were quick as lightning as he ejected the drive and turned off the computer. A key rattled in the door as he stood from the chair. Sarah grabbed her purse and phone off the desk and stuck them under her arm. With one hand she gripped her gun and grabbed Chuck's hand with the other. She pulled him toward the bar at the end of the room. "Down!" she ordered in a whisper as she jerked his arm, slinging him past her and shoving him on the back. He stumbled behind the bar and crouched down. Sarah dove down next to him just as the door opened and the lights flicked on.

The three men entered the room and closed the door, their conversation unabated. Apparently her and Chuck's break in hadn't been discovered since no alarms were raised. Sarah's heart bounced around in her chest as she tried to calm her breathing.

Looking at Chuck, she saw that he was pale and his eyes were huge and round. She put her hand on his arm and stared into his eyes to steady him. He took a slow, quiet breath in and out through his mouth and then nodded, indicating he was doing better. She nodded back and then pointed at his ankle. He lifted the hem of his pants exposing the tranq gun and grimaced as he slowly and painstakingly slid it from the holster. They both released silent breaths when he extracted the gun without making a sound.

Sarah gripped her gun tightly as she listened to the conversation the three men were having. The two men with Zeller were obviously Fulcrum agents as they finished discussing a recent weapons buy in Minsk.

"What is it you needed to discuss with me?" Zeller asked.

"As you know, John Fletcher was captured by MI-6 two weeks ago. As a precaution, Trevor Kingston was moved when Fletcher was arrested," one of the Fulcrum agents said in German. Sarah heard a hint of an Italian accent as he spoke.

"I haven't been able to contact him since he went underground," Zeller said.

"He needed to remain incommunicado during the transition to his new locale," the second agent said. Sarah frowned when the second man's German had an American accent. "He is safely hidden away just outside Maracaibo and will be in contact with you soon."

"Very good," Zeller said.

The Italian Fulcrum agent spoke again. "We have been alerted by our person inside that agency that Fletcher has talked and gave up intel. Our superiors are concerned that if he gave them your name, you will need to move locations as well."

Sarah didn't pay attention to Zeller's response. She handed her gun to Chuck, took her phone and silently typed a text to Vegas. "Kingston is in Maracaibo. Let Graham know ASAP."

She'd just pressed the "send" button when the office door flew open. "Put your hands up!" Bauer shouted. "Konrad Zeller, you are under arrest!"

Sarah's jaw hit the floor. _What the hell?_


	38. Vienna Waits for You

**A/N:** When I posted the first chapter of this story a year ago this coming Saturday, I never thought I'd still be writing it a year later. Boy, was I wrong.

I want to thank everyone who has stuck with me, whether you've been reading the story from Day One (you guys are rock stars) or picked it up along the way (you guys are warriors for seeing how long the story was and going for it anyway). Thank you to all who've left reviews, tweeted and/or messaged me. Your support keeps me going.

I must also thank **AgentInWaiting** for traveling this road with me over the past year. I've said it before and I'll say it again. This story wouldn't be what it is without his insights, suggestions, input and work. Thank you.

Finally, a little housekeeping. I'm finding it impossible to post every Thursday. I'm fairly confident I can post every other Thursday, though, so that's my plan going forward. Thank you for understanding.

**Chapter 38 – Vienna Waits for You**

From her position hunkered down behind the bar where she and Chuck hid in Konrad Zeller's study, Sarah couldn't see Lena Bauer, but certainly heard her. As a matter of fact, Sarah couldn't believe what she was hearing. For some inexplicable reason, the woman had burst into room and shouted that Zeller was under arrest. That wasn't part of the mission. At all. _What the hell is this nutjob doing?_

"You're blowing the whole op!" Vegas shouted while Casey roared, "Are you trying to get the whole team killed?" Chuck's eyes crossed and Sarah winced as the two men yelled into their comms at the same time, almost blowing out their eardrums.

"Give her a chance. I think she is trying to arrest them and save your agents at the same time," Gruber said, trying to calm the Americans. "I'm on my way to back her up."

Chuck looked at Sarah and mouthed, "What do we do?"

She held up her hand like a cop stopping traffic. Raising both eyebrows, she put her index finger up to her lips and then rested it on Chuck's signaling they both needed to remain silent. Her finger moved with his lips when he nodded his head. Gruber was right. If he was able to get upstairs and help Bauer secure and remove Zeller and the other two agents while she and Chuck remained hidden, they would be able to sneak out of the villa without anyone knowing they were ever involved.

"What is the meaning of this?" Zeller growled in German. "Who are you? On what grounds do you think you are arresting me?"

"I am an officer of the BVT. You are an agent of Fulcrum. Those are the grounds. My superiors in Vienna will take notice of me for certain when I bring in three Fulcrum agents I arrested singlehandedly."

Sarah's massive eye roll was one that Lizzie would have envied. When Chuck stuck his finger in his mouth making the international "gag me" sign, she had to clamp her hand over her mouth to hold back the snort.

Bauer continued. "I thought I would only be taking you into custody today Herr Zeller, but apprehending three will earn even bigger accolades for me."

There was a sudden shout downstairs.

"What are you—" Bauer cried.

A shot was fired followed by the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor.

"Grab her!" Zeller yelled.

Bauer let out a shriek and then an "oof" after another loud thud of bodies crashing into each other.

There was grunting and scrabbling as Bauer and one of Fulcrum agents wrestled on the floor. Sarah swapped guns with Chuck, stood up from behind the bar and put a dart in Zeller's chest. As he swayed, he looked at her with astonished eyes. Then his eyelids fluttered and he collapsed in a heap.

By now, the Fulcrum agent had pinned Bauer's wrists to the floor. At the spit of Sarah's gun, his head snapped up and stared directly at her. She aimed and put a dart in his upper arm. Bauer expelled another loud "oof" when the newly unconscious man's dead weight dropped down on top of her. She quickly pushed him off her and scrambled to her feet. Rushing unsteadily over to the wall where her gun had skittered to a stop after having been knocked out of her hand, she managed to pick up the weapon and swept the barrel across the room.

Chuck stood up and followed Sarah as they both hurried out from behind the counter. When they stared down at the Fulcrum agent with blood seeping from his chest, Bauer said, "He tried to pull a gun on me."

Sarah nodded and then heard the screaming and shouting coming from downstairs. "It sounds like all hell's breaking loose. We need to get out of here." Into her comm she called, "Casey! Where are you?"

"I... Hang on. Take that, you son of a bitch," he growled under his breath and then grunted twice. "I'm still outside. I just took out the guy guarding the front door."

"Roger that. Gruber!" Sarah said in a loud voice.

"There are armed guards at the bottom of the stairs." There was a loud pop when a gun fired. "I am pinned down. I cannot get upstairs."

"Herr Zeller!" The shout came from down the hall and was growing closer. "We heard a shot. Are you okay?" Sarah didn't give the man a chance to get any nearer. She hurried to the doorway, leaned her head and arm out just enough to fire a tranq dart into the oncoming guard. After seeing their comrade dropped in his tracks, no one else ventured toward the office.

Sarah swung back into the office. "Casey! The guards are right on the other side of the front door," she shouted in warning. "Try to find a way in through the back."

Sarah handed the tranq gun back to Chuck and took her Smith & Wesson from him. She looked to Bauer. "We should be able to take out the guards from this upper position." She turned to Chuck and said, "You hang back in here until I say it's time to move."

"Sarah, I want—"

"I don't care what you want." She glared at him. "You _have_ to stay safe." A burst of staccato gunfire was followed by the screams and shouts of panicked guests.

"Don't worry. He won't be safe and neither will you, Agent Walker, if he doesn't hand over the flashdrive with the code."

Sarah quickly turned around. The other woman's gun was pointed right at Chuck's chest. "What the _hell_, Bauer!" Her stomach dropped at the sight of Chuck standing in the crosshairs. _What is wrong with this woman?_

Bauer merely put a finger to her lips with her free hand and then pantomimed removing her earpiece. When Sarah's face hardened Bauer gestured with her gun. Sarah breathed deeply before nodding to her husband and savagely yanking the transmitter out of her ear. Chuck followed suit.

"That's better. Now toss them and your weapons into that corner," Bauer ordered after removing and crushing her own earpiece under her heel. Chuck's eyes were wide when he looked at Sarah. She nodded again and they did as directed.

Sarah's jaw and hands clenched. All she wanted to do now was lunge at the other woman and toss her over the hallway railing to the foyer below. "I repeat, Bauer. What the hell?"

She decided before she flung Bauer over the side, she would slap that smug smile off Bauer's face. If a few teeth loosened, all the better. "I informed a certain wealthy man that I might be able to acquire the code that could circumvent Project Sun Ray."

"Let me guess," Sarah growled. "Henri Benoit." _It figured._

Bauer's arrogant smile morphed into a sneer. "Very good, Miss Walker. Since his business has been affected by it, he was highly motivated for me to obtain it." All affectations of pleasantry were stripped away to reveal a hardened face and cold eyes. Bauer cocked the gun pointed at Chuck and in a voice filled with malice said, "My plan was to seduce Agent Carmichael and steal the drive from him later once we were alone. He was not yielding to my charms, however, and since you two bungled it and became trapped up here, I had to intervene." To Chuck, she said, "Give me the drive or I will put a bullet in you right now."

Red edged into Sarah's vision when a ferocious rage exploded in her chest. Despite her trembling with fury, her voice was as still as death. "No. You won't."

"I am afraid I—"

Sarah struck like a cobra. Her foot whipped around and kicked the gun out of Bauer's hand, sending it flying across the room. Leaning back just in time, Sarah felt the air on her face as Bauer's hand whiffed past. It came right back and connected with Sarah's face in a backhand. When her head turned and then snapped right back, Bauer smacked her with a left. She spun and fell to her hands and knees next to the body of the tranqed Fulcrum agent. Her cheek burned hot and the pain of the punch sparkled in her vision.

"Sarah! You want me to shoot her?" Chuck questioned anxiously from where he now stood by the bar. He'd picked up both their weapons and earpieces from the corner and sprinted to the other end of the room.

"No. You stay right there," she ordered as she shoulder rolled on to her back and caught Bauer's foot with both hands just as it rushed toward her face. Sarah twisted hard on the foot, causing the other woman to lose her balance and fall forward onto the floor.

"You could at least use Excalibur or Gryffindor," he suggested.

"Nah," Sarah replied, scrambling to stand up. "Too easy." She wanted to use her bare hands to beat the living hell out of the woman who had tormented Chuck. And now she had the unmitigated gall to point a gun at him. Plus, knowing that Bauer was doing all of this for Benoit only stoked Sarah's ire. A brawl would be cathartic.

Bauer drew a knife from the sheath around her ankle and levered herself to her feet. She lunged at Sarah and swiped the knife at her midsection. Sarah jumped back, the flashing knife missing her by an inch. When another slash came from the left, Sarah blocked it with her right forearm and gripped Bauer's wrist with her left hand. She spun, stepped backward into Bauer and drove her right elbow backward into Bauer's gut. The woman grunted and doubled over. When the knife fell to the floor by her foot, Sarah kicked it away.

Sarah heard Bauer inhale a determined breath and the woman managed to twist her wrist out of Sarah's grasp. Bauer smashed her hands on Sarah's back so hard, the shove propelled her forward and sent her sprawling across the top of the desk. The keyboard flew off and landed on top of the unconscious Konrad Zeller. Flat on top of the desk, Sarah felt something hard against her ribcage. Snaking her hand under her, she felt a metal stapler. Gripping it, she stood up, spun around and threw a haymaker with the hand holding the stapler. It caught Bauer on the side of the face, causing her to stagger backward and slam against the wall. Shaking her head, Bauer lifted her fingers to her face and touched the cut by her eye. Seeing the blood on her fingertips, her face turned thunderous with rage.

Panting and with her fists balled and held up in front of her, Sarah circled to the right and eyed her foe. She noticed the coppery taste of blood as she waited for Bauer's next move.

Chuck held up the gun in his hand. "Uh, Sarah? Sweetie? Are you sure I shouldn't tranq her? You know, I could just tranq her."

"No, honey. I got this."

"Honey? Sweetie?" Bauer spat. Her eyes blazed with hatred. "So it was never an act!" With a wild scream, she pushed away from the wall and charged at Sarah. She lowered her shoulder, rammed it into Sarah's chest and drove her back into the bookshelf. Sarah grunted as the air whooshed from her lungs. When the bookshelf wobbled, books fell from the top shelf and rained down on their heads. Sarah made a quarter turn, hunched and raised her arms over her head to protect it from the falling books. From that position, she spied a heavy-looking decorative bookend. She grabbed it after the last book had fallen. It wasn't as weighty as it looked, seemingly only made of plaster, but it would do. With all her might, she swung the bookend and clocked Bauer on the side of the head. There was a thud when the object connected with Bauer's skull. The force of the blow broke the plaster bookend into three pieces. Bauer crashed to the floor like a bag of rocks.

Sarah wiped blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Glaring down at the unconscious and bleeding woman crumpled on her side, she snarled, "It's 'Mrs.,' you bitch." She resisted the urge to pin Bauer's limp hand to the floor with a stomp of her heel. Looking at Chuck who had rushed to her, she said, "_Now_ you can tranq her."

"Gladly." He pointed his gun and put a dart in Bauer's backside. Sarah shot him an amused look. "She's been a pain in our asses since the moment we met her. I figure it's our turn to be a pain in hers."

"Good point. I approve." Before she could say other word, Chuck's arms suddenly closed around her and hugged her to him.

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" She felt his arms tighten and heard the concern in his voice.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. They still weren't safe and needed to move out, but she gave herself a brief moment to enjoy his embrace. "I'm fine. Probably end up with a bruise here or there is all."

They leaned back and looked into each other's faces. While he didn't look fully convinced, he simply nodded and handed back her earpiece.

"We need to get out of here," she said as they replaced their comms. With one of her husband's arms remaining tight around her waist, she gazed into his face and said, "Casey. Sitrep."

"Gruber's pinned down behind a pillar by Zeller's goons at the bottom of the stairs. I went around the outside of the house and am positioned just outside the back doors that lead to the main room. Most of the guests have cleared out although there are a few still stuck in the foyer. There are still some hanging around on the back terrace. A couple of guests have been shot, but I don't think anything is life-threatening." He paused briefly. "What's all the crap with Bauer?"

"I'll tell you later. She, Zeller, and one of the Fulcrum agents are tranqed up here in the office. The Fulcrum guy has a bullet in him and isn't going anywhere."

"I've been listening in on Salzburg police dispatch. As soon as it hit the fan, a bunch of guests called in. Police and ambulances are on their way and should be there soon," Vegas said. "I called the BVT, too, and they're also incoming."

"Copy. Casey, do I need to shoot my way past the guards downstairs?" She noticed Chuck's fierce scowl at her question and felt his arm constrict around her.

"Negative. You give the word when you're ready and I'll toss in a flashbang. Gruber, you'll want to head for the ballroom before it goes off."

"Copy," Gruber said. There were more gunshots as he darted for cover. The shots ceased. "I am ready."

Stepping out of Chuck's embrace, Sarah walked to the study door and closed it. Then she took his hand and pulled him back toward the bar, stepping over the unconscious bodies littering the floor. She lifted Chuck's gun from his hand and placed it and hers on the bar. "Cover your ears."

His eyebrows shot up, but he followed her instructions and pressed his palms over his ears.

"Okay, Casey. We're set." Then she put her hands over her ears and waited.

"Roger that. Everybody move right after it goes off. Three, two, one." There was a three second lag and then she heard a muffled pop when the flashbang exploded.

To Chuck, she said, "Wait here." Sarah grabbed her gun, picked up her purse from behind the bar and walked to the door. She opened it, raised her weapon and took a tentative step into the hall. She immediately smelled the smoke from the grenade and heard distressed cries from below. Peering over the hallway railing, she saw Zeller's thugs—clearly in difficulty—rocking back and forth on the floor. The concussive nature of the flashbang—along with their temporary loss of sight and hearing—caused them to be so disoriented that they were unable to even sit up.

"Chuck, let's go," she called back. When he stepped out of the doorway, she said, "Stay behind me." Pistol still out in front of her, they hurried down the hall, stepped over the tranqed guard and swiftly descended the stairs.

Gruber emerged from the ballroom as Casey strode purposefully across the foyer. "Carmichael! Tranq those guys!"

Chuck looked to Sarah who nodded. He shrugged and shot a dart in each of the Fulcrum goons trying to right themselves but still only falling over. When the last one slumped and stilled, the room fell silent.

The huge grin on Casey's face told everyone that he was having the time of his life. "Now _that's_ how you crash a party." Through the haze of smoke from the flashbang, Sarah surveyed the room. It looked like a war zone. The order and stateliness was gone and had been replaced by chaos. Tables were turned over and bullet holes riddled the walls and pillars. Broken glass from dropped wine glasses littered the floor and crunched under Casey's shoes. The guests who had not been lucky enough to escape lay dazed on the floor. Sarah felt bad for the innocent victims caught up in the whole mess.

"Thanks for the flashbang, Casey. Good thinking," Sarah said.

His "you're welcome" came in the form of a grunt. "What happened with Bauer? There was so much going on, I couldn't hear."

"She tried to get the code from Chu— Charles. She was going to sell it to Henri Benoit," Sarah said.

Casey's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. "Was she working for him?"

"It was unclear if she was actively on his payroll, or more of a mercenary. Either way, it's obvious she's had dealings with him." After a pause, she said with added emphasis, "Recently."

"Should we wait here until she wakes up to talk to her?" Chuck asked.

"No. We can't. Our team needs to go."

"Back to the safe house?"

"Yes, but only long enough to collect our _stuff_." He knew exactly what "stuff" she referred to from the understanding she saw in his eyes. "We need to go back to Vienna tonight."

Casey's blue eyes glinted. "Walker's right. We don't know if anyone else from the BVT is in Benoit's pocket or if Bauer was working with anyone else."

"If there is an accomplice, they might try to intercept us with the code at the safe house," Chuck said, his voice dropping to a whisper at the end.

Sarah felt the angry "mama bear" inside her rouse. "Vegas!" she barked.

"Calling Barstow right now to have everything ready to move out when we get there."

The urgency to go get the kids and leave for Vienna became paramount and brought everything into sharp focus. To Gruber she said, "We have to go. Now. We can't be here when the police show up or we'll be stuck here for hours. Make sure the BVT ends up with Zeller and his goons as well as Bauer," her tone sharp as a knife. "But I want Bauer transferred to CIA custody as soon as possible. In exchange, you can keep Zeller and his men." She wanted the Agency to interrogate Bauer about her recent dealings with Benoit. Plus, there was the added benefit of Bauer's impending intestinal distress when she finds out the CIA doesn't take kindly to their agents being threatened and double-crossed. If she wasn't so concerned about the kids, that little nugget of truth would have made her smile.

The BVT man flinched under the withering glare of her storming hazel-tinted eyes. "I am sure our directors can come to an arrangement. Officer Bauer is an embarrassment not only to our agency but our country. It will not only show our willingness to cooperate, but should also serve as a deterrent to others who might also be tempted to sell their loyalties."

Vegas cut in. "Already got the call into Graham. Also, two of our agents will be helicoptered in from Munich to take custody of Bauer. They'll be in the air momentarily and should be on the ground in Salzburg in less than ninety minutes."

"Copy. Good work, Vegas," Sarah said. "Head back to the safe house and we'll meet you there in a few."

"Roger that."

Chuck rested his hand on her arm. "Sirens. Are we ready to go?"

"Car's already parked out front," Casey informed them as he took the steps two at a time and yanked open the door.

"I will cover for you if anyone asks about the red-haired woman and her blond husband," Gruber said. They took turns shaking his hand. "Good luck, Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael." Sarah didn't know if he was using their cover names once more or if he knew they were really married. Given he had been pinned down in a gunfight she had no idea what he heard. The fact that his face gave away nothing told her that if he did know, they could trust him to keep it a secret.

"Thank you, Officer Gruber," Sarah said.

Chuck nodded and added, "Good luck to you, too." Then they turned, bounded up the steps and rushed out the door. The engine roared under the hood when Casey gunned it with impatience. Sarah reached the car first, grabbed the handle and threw open the rear door. "Chuck, get in!" she yelled as the sirens neared.

He dove into the backseat with her right behind him, landing on top of him like he was a President under fire and she was a Secret Service agent protecting him. She wasn't given a chance to sit up and close the door before bits of gravel kicked up from the tires as Casey stepped on the accelerator. The back door slammed closed when the car leapt forward.

The speed with which Casey took the hard turn out of the courtyard and onto the road caused Sarah—still sprawled on top of Chuck—to shift. The fake mustache and goatee scratching her skin gave her ample evidence that her that chest was now firmly in Chuck's face. If they weren't married, the position they found themselves in would have been phenomenally awkward. It was a good thing they weren't uncomfortable, since they were kind of stuck there since the BMW's rapid acceleration pressed them against the back of the seat and made it difficult to move. She remembered thinking Chuck would appreciate the low neckline of the dress. She didn't think it would be quite so literal. His hot breath on her skin did make her feel kind of tingly, though.

Casey eased off the accelerator and finally turned on the headlights. "What the hell are you two doing back there? You're not a couple of horny teenagers, you know. I swear, if you're grabbing each other's—"

"Relax, Casey," Sarah said. She shifted so she and Chuck were face-to-face and rested a hand on his cheek. "Are you okay?" she asked.

His smile was wonderfully roguish. "If I'm going to be smothered, there's no other way I'd want it to happen."

Her return smile was accompanied by a chuckle. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." They shared a quick kiss and then she levered herself up and off of him. She glanced out the car window. They were flying down a country lane at an impressive clip.

Anticipating her question, Casey said, "There were a lot of flashing lights coming fast from the north. I didn't want us to get pulled over since we were obviously coming out of the place they're heading toward and would have been going right at them."

"Good thinking," Sarah answered.

Chuck sat up just as Casey said "Hang on." The tires squealed in protest as they gripped the road when car took a turn at a healthy rate. Due to the direction and speed of the turn, this time it was Chuck who slid into Sarah.

Once the car completed the turn, they were both able to sit straight and put on their seatbelts. Now safely clipped in, Chuck tugged the end of his silk bow tie. When it was completely untied and hung loose around his neck, he undid the top button of his dress shirt. "I think you missed your calling, Casey. You would have made a great bank heist getaway driver." When he pointed at the ear with the earwig in it, Sarah nodded. He took the device from his ear and dropped it in her hand. She took hers out, too, and put them in her purse.

Casey was obviously distracted when the only answer to Chuck's quip about his driving was a vague, "Yup."

Sarah's gaze snapped toward her partner. The bright headlights of the car traveling on the road behind them reflected into Casey's eyes when he stared into the rearview mirror. She twisted and looked out the back window. The headlights were less than a quarter of a mile behind them. "Have they been behind us since we left Zeller's?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe they'd go straight when we turned, but they turned, too."

Chuck spun around, looked out the window and then at Sarah. "That doesn't mean they're _following us_ following us, does it?"

"No, not necessarily. But it's more than likely they are, given everything."

"What, uh… what do we do?" Chuck asked. His voice was tight with nerves. "We can't go back to the safe house if they're following us."

"Nope, we can't," the big man answered. "First we ascertain if the vehicle is actually tailing us. Once we've established their intent, we take appropriate action." Sarah wasn't sure if she should be worried or relieved at the glee she heard in Casey's voice. Casey took his earwig out of his ear and stuffed it deep into his jacket pocket. He had swapped it for a long, fat cigar. When he chomped it between his teeth, she knew he was ready for action.

Chuck inclined his head toward Sarah. "Do I want to know?"

"I don't think you do. Just make sure your seatbelt is tight."

Even the dimness, she could see the whites of her husband's eyes grow larger. "Okay," he said, drawing out and exaggerating the "o." "He does know we have seven children, right?"

"Ah, quit your bellyaching and help," Casey said around the stogie. "Get your phone out and navigate."

Doing as directed, Chuck took his phone from his pocket and turned it on. He opened the map app and found their position. "Got it."

Casey had to further ease off the accelerator as the lane they were on ended at a two-lane road. Fortunately, there was no traffic on the road at that time of night, so he barely touched the brake as he made his left turn. Sarah twisted around to look out the back window again, hoping the car behind them would turn the other way. She wasn't surprised, but still disappointed when a few seconds later the glare of headlights returned. Turning forward again, she said, "I'm convinced."

"Yeah. Me, too," Casey grumbled. He drove the car faster than he should have through a small village. Once they cleared the cluster of houses and businesses along the road, he floored it again.

Chuck spun around and peered out the back. "They're not gaining on us, but we're not pulling away from them, either."

"Thanks for the play-by-play," Casey groused.

Sarah growled in frustration. "We can't just drive around Salzburg all night hoping they run out of gas. We don't have time for that. We need to get to the kids."

Chuck turned forward again and stared down at the phone in his hand. He drew his thumb and index finger closer to each other across the screen. After studying the map, he said, "I've got an idea. Casey, do you think you can do a bootleg turn with this thing?"

The big man snorted. "I learned to do those in my mom's 1974 Cadillac Fleetwood. This is a Mini compared to that boat." The memory of the car seemed to be a happy one for him. Sarah heard real affection in his voice when he said, "The number of bodies you could have stuffed in the trunk of that land yacht—"

"You can reminisce later," she said, gently cutting him off. "Chuck, what's your idea? Just know that the other driver can probably do the same maneuvers Casey can."

"Right, but if they're just following us around and not paying attention to where we are exactly, we can use the darkness to our advantage." He held his phone between them so they could look at it at the same time. "There," he said, pointing at a specific place on the map. "If they don't know it's coming…"

"Got it. Just tell me when and where," Casey said. He didn't even need to see the map to know what Chuck's idea was. "Not bad, Bartowski." Casey removed the cigar from his mouth and put it on the center console next to the handbrake.

"Good thinking, Chuck," Sarah said, laying a hand on his thigh. A pleased smile flickered on his face. It faded when he turned his attention back to the phone.

"Make the next left. Follow it until you get to _Alpenstraße_ and hang another left. It's a four lane divided highway. You can't miss it."

"Copy," Casey said. Both passengers in the back seat had to brace themselves as Casey powered through the first left. After a slight curve in the road, he mashed the accelerator again and they were soon careening around the second left onto the dual carriageway of _Alpenstraße_.

Chuck's eyes remained fixed on tracking the little blue dot across the map in his hand just as Casey's remained fixed on the road. No one needed to turn around to see if the other vehicle was still following. The headlights illuminating the interior of their car from behind told them everything.

"Peel off to the right and go across the river. Then take the second right."

Casey did so and soon the car was flying across the bridge.

Once on the other side, Chuck shouted, "Right! Here!"

Casey spun the wheel and the car made the quick turn, the back fishtailing in protest. The road curved to the left and then to the right. Out the window on the right was a large apartment complex. "Bartowski!" Casey growled. Sarah couldn't see it, but she knew the ropey vein in his forehead was pulsating.

"Trust me!"

They raced along a straightaway, the car tailing them closing in.

"Make a left in a second," Chuck shouted.

"It's too dark! I can't see! There're no signs!"

Sarah leaned forward and searched out the windshield. "There!" she said, pointing to the left. She listed to the right as the car raced around the corner.

"Right in a hundred yards!"

"Bartowski!"

"Trust me!"

"Bartowski!"

"Now!" Chuck shouted.

Casey made the turn with the other car close behind in their dust.

"We're there! This is it!" Chuck shouted.

"Got it!" Casey roared back, shifting the car into a lower gear. The engine whined but the car barely slowed.

Sarah braced a hand on the headrest in front of her. "Casey!"

"I got it!"

"Now, Casey! Now!" Chuck yelled.

"No! Not yet!"

"Now!"

"Almost there!" Silence. "Hang on!"

Casey flicked the steering wheel quick to the right, stomped on the brake and then snapped the wheel hard to the left. Sarah's shoulder pressed against the door as the tires screeched when the back of the car skidded around and came to a stop in the other lane pointing the opposite direction. Their pursuer's car flashed past. The driver never saw what was coming as the car flew off the dead end at full speed, sailed over the shrub-covered embankment and into the Salzach River.

Sarah's heart knocked against her sternum like it was trying to escape. Chuck panted for breath as his hand still had a death grip on the armrest in his door. Casey, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed. He calmly returned the cigar to his mouth, depressed the accelerator and started the car up the road.

"Chuck, did that car plunge into the river?" Sarah asked. She wasn't concerned about it other than how that fact would affect him.

"Yeah, but it's not that deep right there. See?" He held the phone in front of her again and pointed at the satellite image on the screen. "There's a bunch of rocks and stuff there. It's kind of like a beach. My guess is the front of the car is under water and completely trashed. And the driver will have some bumps and bruises—for his sake I sure hope the airbag deployed—but the car won't sink to the bottom of the river or anything like that."

She smiled softly, reached out a hand and lightly stroked his cheek with her fingers. _Of course_ his plan would try to minimize injuries. "It was an excellent plan and it worked perfectly. We should probably call the police and an ambulance there, though. We need to make sure the police know he was mixed up with the whole Zeller thing."

"That's a good idea." Wrinkling his nose, he cocked his head and stared at his phone. "How do you call 911 in Austria, anyway?"

"For most of the countries in Europe, it's 112," she replied.

"Maybe it would be better if _you_ called." In the glow of the light from his phone, she saw one side of his mouth rise in a crooked smile. "You know, the whole German thing might be kind of an issue."

"I think you're probably right," she replied with a chuckle.

As she reached for her purse to retrieve her phone, he asked her, "You think the guy chasing us was with Zeller or Bauer?"

"My guess is Zeller since it was his house with his security and his Fulcrum thugs. There were probably a couple of guys at least who were outside and weren't affected by the flashbang. They probably saw the end of the firefight and followed us." After a heavy sigh, she continued, "On the other hand, if Bauer had an accomplice, he or she might have seen a chance to get the code from you and sell it to Benoit."

"Let the police and the international alphabet agencies sort it out," Casey said. "Hey, Bartowski. Left or right?"

Chuck checked the map. "Left." He paused as he dragged his finger across the screen. "We'll stay on this for about three kilometers." Casey wasn't driving as fast as he had been when they were being chased by their mysterious pursuer, but he wasn't taking them on a Sunday afternoon drive, either. "At this rate, we should be at the safe house in about ten minutes, tops."

While Sarah called the emergency number and anonymously informed the dispatcher that a car had gone into the river at the location she gave them, Chuck texted Vegas, Barstow and Morgan, telling them they would be at the house in a few minutes.

Now that they were no longer being followed—she had checked several times just in case—Sarah finally got a chance to take off her auburn wig. It felt glorious to get the itchy thing off. Her blonde hair, free of its confines, tumbled down around her shoulders. She tossed the wig on the seat and brushed her fingers through her hair a couple of times. A delighted moan escaped when she massaged her scalp with her fingertips. What she really needed was a shower and the use of a half a bottle of shampoo, but that was going to have to wait.

"Can I take mine off, too? My head's on fire. It feels like someone lined the inside of this thing with itching powder-laced poison oak leaves."

"Yeah, go ahead."

He pulled the wig off and threw it on top of hers on the seat. Just as she had done, he raked his fingers all over his head all the while muttering under his breath how wigs were instruments of torture. Casey snorted and mumbled something about dead badgers with dandruff.

When they were about a half-kilometer from the house, he switched off the headlights and drove the rest of the way in stealth mode. There really was no reason to announce where they were going.

As they slowly drove up the long gravel driveway, Sarah noticed yellow light glowing in nearly every window of the house. "It looks like everyone's up."

The car rolled to a stop in front of the building and Chuck let out a breath like he'd been holding it for the last four hours. "I feel the same way," she said, her relief evident in her voice.

The three had exited the car and were walking toward the house when the front door swung open. "We've been watching—" Curtis started to shout, but was immediately shushed. He dipped his head, lowered his voice to a loud whisper and tried again. "We've been watching and waiting for you to come back." The huge smile splitting the boy's face said it all and brought unexpected wetness to Sarah's eyes.

Sarah laughed out loud when Martie and Megan suddenly appeared in the doorway and hopped up and down, their faces beaming with excitement. The pajamas they wore and their messy hair told her they had earlier been in bed.

By the time they arrived at the door, all seven kids were clustered around it, waiting for them. As was the case whenever they returned from anything mission related, they were immediately greeted with laughing, shouted greetings, ferocious, happy hugs, and kisses bestowed on many cheeks. They all started talking over each other, asking about the mission and why they had to leave Salzburg in the middle of the night. "Do we have time to answer any questions?" Chuck asked his wife under his breath.

"I think we can answer a couple."

"Okay," he said and then called for quiet. Once the torrent of voices ceased, he said, "We know you have a million questions and we'll have time to talk through all of those later. Right now, we'll answer the two that seem to be on everyone's minds. First of all, Agent Vegas, Uncle Casey, Aunt Sarah and I are all okay." There were smiles and relieved sighs. "Secondly, the mission was successful. We got the code." Cheering and applause erupted from everyone, including Morgan, Vegas and Barstow.

"Why are we going back to Vienna tonight?" Lizzie asked.

Chuck looked to Sarah and nodded for her to answer. Using her ability to say just enough to explain why, but not saying too much to scare them, she said, "Like Uncle Chuck said, the mission was a success, but it didn't go _exactly_ the way it was supposed to." When she noticed several furrowed brows, she quickly continued on. "There was an issue with one of the Austrian agents. We found out she wasn't as trustworthy as we thought she was. She was trying to get the code for herself so she could sell it." The kids' faces turned angry at Bauer's betrayal. "We stopped her and the police have her now. The CIA will take custody of her as soon as agents get to the house. We don't know if she was working by herself or with someone. If she _was_ working with someone, and that someone knows we have the code and where we're staying, they might try to come and take it from us." _Which could put you in danger_. She didn't want say that out loud, so she kept that to herself. "To be on the safe side, we decided we should head back to Vienna as soon as we can. It's a three-hour drive, so you can sleep on the way."

Chuck asked them, "Do you have all your stuff packed up?"

All heads nodded.

"Okay, let's start loading up our bags in the car and van," Chuck instructed. "Triple check around to make sure you didn't leave anything anywhere," he called out after them as everyone, except Lisa, who hung back, began to scatter.

Lisa slowly approached her uncle and aunt. Pointing at the discoloration on Sarah's face from Bauer's blow, she asked, "Are you sure you're okay?" Sarah had to swallow back the lump that stuck in her throat when she saw the swirl of emotion in Lisa's eyes.

"Yes, we're okay." Just as she had done for Chuck on other occasions, she held her arms out to the side and twirled around in a circle. Seeing at what she'd done, Chuck copied her spin for Lisa's sake.

Resting hand on the teen's cheek, Sarah said, "I'll always make sure we come back to you." Like an ebb tide, the concern and anxiety clouding Lisa's eyes receded. And like a flood tide, Sarah knew their niece's apprehension would return again someday. That was okay. She would continue to make good on her promise in the hopes that one day the fear that lurked behind Lisa's eyes would be banished for good.

Chuck stepped forward, put an arm around each of them and hugged them both. He first kissed the top of Lisa's head and then Sarah's and then Lisa's again. "Go get ready to go, kiddo. Your aunt and I need to go change and I need her to help me get this cheesy facial hair off my ugly mug before it becomes a permanent fixture."

Lisa snickered, pulled his head down and kissed his cheek. "You have a very handsome mug, with or without the cheesy facial hair."

His eyes twinkled with delight. "There's a reason you're my favorite."

She laughed, kissed Sarah on her non-bruised cheek and went off to get her things.

As she watched Lisa walk away, a sudden wave of hunger, thirst and exhaustion nearly knocked Sarah to the floor. One quick glance into Chuck's tired face told her he was about to go down for the count, too. Seeing Lizzie come downstairs with her bag in hand, Sarah had an idea. "Chuck, you go upstairs and start getting changed. I'll be up in a minute to help you get the mustache and beard off."

"Roger," he replied, but didn't move away until he squeezed her tight.

Once he was climbing the stairs, Sarah called Lizzie over. "Uncle Chuck and I are both dehydrated and starving. While we go change and get our stuff together, could you raid the refrigerator and—"

"Done," Lizzie said without hesitation. "Go. I'll get food for Uncle Casey, too."

Sarah hugged her tightly and whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," her niece said quietly, returning the fierce embrace. When Lizzie released her, she took Sarah by the shoulders, spun her around in an about-face and gently pushed her toward the stairs. "Go."

She hustled up the stairs, ready to take the contacts out of her eyes and get into some comfortable clothes. When she closed the master bedroom door behind her, Chuck had already changed out of his tuxedo slacks and into his jeans. He'd removed the studs from the front of his shirt, but was struggling with one of the cufflinks.

"Here, let me." She removed both cufflinks and dropped them in the bag with the rest of the studs. "What, no 'stud' jokes this time?"

"I'm too tired," he said, peeling off the dress shirt to reveal the bulletproof vest. "Being a spy is exhausting." The Velcro made a loud ripping noise when she tugged at the straps. She helped lift the vest off and tossed it on the bed. "Is there time for me to take a shower?" He gave her a hopeful, puppy dog look.

"No, I'm sorry," she replied as she kicked off of her heels and slipped out of her dress. "We need to get out of here as soon as possible and we still need to take off your mustache and beard."

"Okay." He took off his t-shirt, balled it up and cautiously sniffed at it. Recoiling with a grimace, he said, "As long as my manly funk isn't too powerful for you, I can wait."

She pulled up her jeans and tossed a t-shirt on over her head. Combing her fingers through her hair, she drew it up into a ponytail and wrapped a band around it. "I'll see your man-funk and raise you my gross 'wig' hair."

With a wolfish grin, he said, "Should I only call your gross wig hair or are you trying to get me to go all in."

She sauntered up to him and ran a finger down the center of his bare chest. "You know I love it when you go all in." If he had a sly response ready, it was lost when she watched his brain turn to Jell-O right in front of her. He went completely still, like a droid in the "off" position. Speech failed him when he only gurgled. She wondered if his rapid blinking was him trying to communicate with her by using Morse code.

Chuckling, she took him by the hand and led him stumbling behind her to the bathroom. She sat him down on the closed lid of the toilet seat and picked up a small bottle of spirit gum remover from the counter. After dipping a makeup brush into the liquid, she applied some of it at one corner of the mustache. Once the adhesive began to dissolve, she picked her fingernail at where the mustache was beginning to lift from his skin. As she gently peeled it back, she brushed more remover to where fake hair and skin met. Soon the mustache was completely off and she dropped it on the counter.

Before she started in on his goatee, she gave him a minute to rub his fingertips over the skin between his nose and upper lip. "It feels good to get that dead caterpillar off my face."

"I bet it does," she replied as she started to work on the last bit of his disguise. Once the goatee was off, she scrubbed a hand over his chin, checking to make sure all the residual glue was gone. "You made a wonderful James Nerd, but I'm glad to have my Chuck back." She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips. "Now put a shirt on. You're distracting me."

He beamed a smile and then kissed her quickly. "Yes, ma'am." He jumped up and scooted past behind her as she stood at the sink and rinsed the brush before pitching it into her makeup bag. Finally, she popped the hazel contacts out and blinked several times. It helped some, but her eyes still felt dry.

Her gaze swept over the bathroom counter and not seeing any of their things, she shut off the light and crossed the room to her overnight bag sitting atop the bed. She stuffed her bathroom bag and shoes into it, zipped it closed and slung the strap of the bag over her shoulder. Tossing the dress and the tuxedo jacket over her arm, she asked, "You ready to go?"

Chuck picked up his bag and nodded.

She glanced down at the pants still lying on the bed and raised an eyebrow. "Do you have the flashdrive?"

His eyes grew round. "Oh!" He picked up the pants, shoved his hand deep into the pocket and withdrew the drive. After stuffing it into the front pocket of his jeans, he shot her an embarrassed grin. "Yes. I have the flashdrive."

She snorted a chuckle and eyed him with amusement. "Grab the dress shirt and let's go, you big nerd."

He snatched the shirt off the bed and tossed it and the slacks over his shoulder. He swept an arm to the side and said, "After you."

After a quick search of the rooms upstairs—where Chuck found a rogue sock and Sarah picked up a forgotten comb—they came downstairs. Casey sat at the kitchen table, stuffing the last bite of a sandwich into his mouth. Two more sandwiches sat on the table with a frosty bottle of water next to each. The front door stood open as Vegas and Barstow walked back into the house. Vegas relieved Chuck and Sarah of their bags while Barstow took the dress and tux.

"This is the last of it. Everything else is loaded up," Vegas informed them.

Barstow glanced over at the kids lined up on the couch. "Except for personnel, of course."

"Shotgun!" Fred shouted out.

Everyone groaned, realizing they'd missed their chance. Sarah, however, was unwilling to be bound by that time-honored tradition of reserving the front passenger seat. "Sorry, Fred. We'll need to be strategic about who rides in which car."

"But I called—" One arched eyebrow staunched the flow of words like a tourniquet.

After a short discussion between the agents—during which time Chuck and Sarah scarfed down their food like they hadn't eaten in a week—it was decided that the females would ride in the sedan and the males would pile into the van.

"Sorry, girls," Fred crowed, taunting his sisters. "You're gonna miss out on riding on the awesome 'Party Bus.'"

"Try 'Stinky Mobile Locker Room,'" Lisa replied, rolling her eyes. "At least we'll be able to breathe."

Wrinkling his nose, Chuck said, "She's right." Sarah marveled that even in his exhaustion, his eyes twinkled. "Martie, I'll give you ten dollars if you let me take your place in the car."

With a loud giggle, she cried, "No way, Uncle Chuck."

"Megan?" He tried his sad, puppy dog look on her. Firmly crossed arms and a resolute shake of her head was the little girl's only response.

Sarah patted Chuck on the back. "Sorry, honey." He whimpered when she added with a snicker, "Roll down a window."

Five minutes later, the house was dark and locked up tight and the vehicles were loaded with bags, equipment and passengers.

Sarah sat behind the steering wheel of the BMW and followed the van down the dark driveway. While it was a bit cramped—at least for the four in the backseat—they'd managed to fit all the girls in the sedan. Although it wasn't strictly regulation, Martie and Megan shared a seatbelt in backseat with Bridget on one side of them and Lisa on the other. The hope was the two youngest could use their sisters' shoulders or laps to sleep on.

Megan piped up. "Are you going to drive the car with the headlights off all the way to Vienna?"

"No, sweetie, just until we're away from the house. Uncle Casey thought it would be best for us not to draw attention to us leaving." She thought it was unnecessary since there had been so much activity at the house before they left, but Casey insisted, and it couldn't hurt, so she'd agreed. "You girls should try to get some sleep. It's late and it'll be three hours before we get back to the hotel." To Lizzie in the passenger seat, she said, "You should sleep, too. I know Uncle Chuck told you to help keep me awake, but I've stayed awake much longer than this. I'll be fine."

From the corner of her eye, she saw her niece shake her head. "Nuh-uh. For one thing, this is my chance to stay up late and not get in trouble for it. Besides, you know and I know and even Uncle Chuck knows you'll be fine. He's just being overprotective. You know how he is when it comes to cars and driving and stuff after what happened to my mom and dad."

Both Sarah and Lizzie knew first hand his apprehension when it came to the ones he loved driving. His fears had lessened over the past year, especially when it came to him allowing Lizzie to learn to drive, but she also knew Ellie and Devon's deaths in that drunk driving accident would always affect him. _And now it's late at night and his wife and five girls are in one car_. No wonder he was a bit anxious to make sure she stayed awake. "Okay, Liz," she said. "And as an added bonus, I get to spend the next three hours with you." That final comment earned her a happy smile from her eldest.

After a kilometer of driving in the dark, Sarah saw the van's headlights flick on. Following suit, she turned the car's on. As they drove through Salzburg, she repeatedly checked the rearview mirror for any sign of a vehicle following them. Thankfully, there was only darkness. A few minutes later, the two vehicles merged onto the autobahn and started their journey eastward. In a few hours, everyone would be safely in their beds in Vienna and the mission to Salzburg would finally be over.

~ O ~

It took a minute for Sarah's slowly awakening brain to work out where she was exactly. At first, she thought she was in Prague. When she yawned and felt the ache in her jaw, the memory what had taken place in Salzburg flooded in. It had been quite a day, one that had started in Vienna early yesterday morning and didn't end until three this morning.

She cracked open an eye, lifted her head off the pillow and looked around. Chuck lay flat on his stomach with his slack face turned toward her, still fully dressed and in the same position as when he fell on top of the bed. His mouth hung open a little as he gently snored.

She was still dressed in her jeans and t-shirt, too. Once they'd gotten everyone to bed, neither wanted to bother with pajamas or even pulling the covers back for that matter. She glanced over at the slumbering Megan. It had been easy getting her to bed. Surprisingly, all the girls had stayed awake and chattered for the first half of the drive. To get them to quiet down, Sarah had Lizzie plug her iPhone into the car's audio system and play her playlist of soothing classical music. By the time the third movement of Mozart's _Serenade for Winds _began, all four girls in the back were asleep. When it was time to put the already pajama'd Megan into bed, the little girl was in such a deep sleep, she barely stirred.

Dropping her head back onto the pillow, she closed her eyes. Having no idea what time it was, she stuck a hand out to the side and searched around on top of the nightstand for her phone. When her fingers touched its cold, flat surface, she gripped the phone and let her hand and it flop onto her chest. She gave herself another minute and then lifted the phone and turned it on, flicking at the mute switch. She blinked and squinted at the numbers at the top of the screen. It was ten o'clock. Considering everything, six and a half hours of sleep wasn't bad.

Her phone had logged a number of missed calls while she had been asleep. She checked the list and wasn't surprised to find that all of them had been from Director Graham. The most recent had come in only an hour before. Doing some quick math, she figured out it was four in the morning in Washington. She didn't want to call him then, assuming he would be asleep, but when she listened to his most recent voicemail instructing her to call him as soon as she could, she knew she'd better follow orders.

She swung her legs off the bed and sat up. Her head felt still a little fuzzy—as did the inside of her mouth—and her muscles were a little stiff from her altercation with Bauer. A nice hot shower would take care of the kinks. Twisting around to stretch her back, she looked at her sleeping husband. A hint of a smile curled when she thought of various ways he could help her "get the kinks out." Sadly, they would have to wait.

She padded across the floor to the bathroom and shut the door. After "draining the tank," as the kids would say, she washed her hands and splashed some water on her face. She looked in the mirror and saw that she wasn't exactly looking her best. Her hair was a mess from the wig and sleep. She snorted when the smudged mascara rimming her eyes evoked the thought "panda" and winced when she gently prodded the sore cheek with her fingertips. Thankfully, it didn't look that bad. A little makeup would do the trick to cover the discoloration.

Not wanting to wake her sleeping husband and niece, she decided to call Graham from the bathroom. She was prepared to leave a voicemail, but wasn't surprised when the director answered the phone.

"Agent Walker," he said, his voice gravelly. Apparently, the man did sleep after all.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, Director." She'd forgotten to test her voice before speaking. Hearing herself, she sounded almost as raspy as the director did. "You said to contact you as soon as possible, but I can certainly call back in a few hours."

"No. No, you were right to call," he answered and then cleared his throat. "I believe you have a tournament scheduled for later today and I wanted to speak with you before then."

"Yes, sir."

"First of all, congratulations on a successful mission, even if there was a twist with this Officer Bauer."

Just the name made Sarah's teeth grind. "Thank you, sir."

"The Austrians were more than happy to allow our agents to take her into custody when they arrived on scene at Zeller's house. Bauer has been transported to Munich where she will be interrogated. There had to have been some plan to get the software to Benoit had she been successful in acquiring it. We hope to get that information from her and use it to track him down."

"Yes, sir. What about Zeller and his men? Did the police find the car that followed us? Were they Zeller's men?"

"The BVT will be working with other European agencies to deal with Zeller. And the two men pursuing you were apprehended and yes, they were also Fulcrum agents. They had minor injuries, but were otherwise unharmed."

She couldn't help but brag a little. "Having them drive off a dead end road into the river was Chuck's idea. He navigated while Casey drove."

"Really?" He sounded both surprised and impressed. "I'm glad to know my trust in him, you and the rest of your team was justified." After a pause, he said, "I'm sure you'd also like to know that two hours ago, Trevor Kingston was captured. He had set up a new base outside Maracaibo, just as your intel indicated." The excitement was evident in Graham's voice when he continued, "Having Fulcrum's top encryption men in custody effectively ends the organization's ability to use encoded communications. And with the number of Fulcrum agents we have taken into custody in the last twelve hours or so, we believe we have a real chance of rooting out more and more Fulcrum cells throughout the world. We will certainly be able to hamstring them, if not dismantle the organization in its entirety very soon."

The thought of Fulcrum being completely destroyed and thus removing the constant danger that hung over Chuck like a specter made her feel giddy. Given his job with the Agency, they would always have to be careful, but thinking of the freedom they would enjoy if a known threat was removed was almost intoxicating. "That's fantastic news, Director."

"It is." Shifting gears, he asked, "Is there anything else I need to know from you, Agent Walker?"

"I don't think so, sir. Agents Vegas and Barstow left the BVT's van and car on a nearby side street and then called their office here in Vienna telling them where the vehicles can be found. We left the disguises and clothes in the sedan, too, so I believe our interaction with the BVT should be complete."

"Very good. If we receive any actionable intel regarding Benoit from Bauer, I'll be sure to let you know. What is your next destination?"

"We're scheduled to fly to Rome tomorrow."

"Fine. Enjoy your time in the Eternal City. Be sure to check in with me when you've arrived."

"Yes, sir and thank you." With that, the call ended.

Already in the bathroom, she decided to take a shower. It turned out to be one of the longest, hottest, most glorious showers she had ever had. By the time she was done, the whole bathroom was as wet as a rainforest.

Since the previous day had been incredibly eventful, it was a nice change of pace when the rest of the day went as planned. When she stepped out of the bathroom, Chuck and Megan were both awake. She gave him the good news about Kingston, Bauer and Fulcrum and soon there was a parade of kids coming in and out of each other's rooms as they all showered, ate breakfast and dressed for the tournament. They arrived a little early at the Buy More on _Mariahilfer Straße_, the longest shopping street in Vienna, so they were able to do some browsing beforehand. As for the tournament, they made it to the final round, but lost in the deciding match. Knowing how tired everyone was after their early morning escape from Salzburg, Chuck and Sarah were pleased at how well the team actually did.

After the tournament, all thirteen sat together at one giant table at _Mariahilferbräu_, a restaurant that served large amounts of the kind of hearty and delicious food that Sarah could only describe as "stick to your ribs." With the Salzburg mission behind them, and no specific missions on the horizon, the atmosphere at the table was relaxed and jovial. While the guys imbibed the different beers on tap, Sarah declined, perfectly happy with her bottle of mineral water.

They ended up ordering nearly every dessert on the menu and passed the plates around so everyone could sample all of the treats. There were both apple and cheese strudels, three plates of _palatschinken_, or Austrian crepes—one with apricot jam, one with chocolate sauce, one with vanilla ice cream, and all with whipped cream—and _Kaiserschmarrn, _a powdered sugar covered caramelized pancake concoction.

When the plate of hot chocolate cake drizzled with chocolate sauce landed in front of Sarah, but never moved on, Chuck laid an arm across the top of her chair and leaned his head in next to hers. "Should I order some more chocolate cake to go?"

The pleasant mental image of him, her and piece of warm chocolate cake overcame her brain. That, along with his close proximity and suggestive smile sent a warm, tingling buzz humming through her. "I would like nothing more." At that moment, she wanted to slash her finger through the frosting and have him lick it off like he'd done when they'd gone cake tasting before the wedding. Decorum prevailed, however, and she forked a bite of cake into his mouth instead. "I don't think traumatizing the little miss who sleeps three feet away from our bed is a good idea." With a coy sidelong glance, she said in a sultry voice, "Maybe when we get to Rome, we can find a way to enjoy some gelato, or maybe some tiramisu."

His eyes stayed locked on hers even when he called out to Morgan who sat across the table. "Hey, buddy. What time do we get into Rome tomorrow?"

When Morgan answered with a stuttering, "Wha-, wha-, wha-" both Chuck and Sarah squinted at him. He blanched and with wide, panicked eyes, he looked like a man facing a train barreling down on him. "You don't know? I, um, thought I told you."

"Told us what?"

Morgan picked up his glass and chugged several swallows of his beer. "That, uh, part of the trip got canceled."

"What? Why?" Chuck exclaimed.

"There were some delays and the Buy More in Rome isn't ready to open. They were hoping it would be ready in time, but it's not. So they moved up the date of the tournament in the next city, so we're still flying out tomorrow. Hey, I'm sorry man. I thought I told you."

"You didn't." Sarah could tell Chuck was peeved, but was also trying his best to control his irritation with his friend. "When did you find this out?"

Morgan's eyebrows lowered and he scrunched his face, deep in thought. He snapped his fingers and his face brightened when he remembered. "It was in Berlin. You two were at the opera and we were playing Bathroom Poker with the kids when I got the call. I wasn't going to call and interrupt you when you two were out on your date. And then with Bridget's ear infection and the tournament being weird without the regular team, it just slipped my mind. Sorry, dude."

"It's okay, Morgan. It's not your fault." Crestfallen, Chuck mumbled so that only Sarah could hear, "I was really looking forward to a serious PDA session with you in front of the Trevi Fountain."

"Me, too," she sighed with disappointment. Thinking about the final stop on their trip, she said, "We'll just have to find another fountain. Or we can have our PDA session in front of St. Basil's Cathedral." She waggled her eyebrows at him. "You know, honey is an important ingredient in a lot Russian desserts."

"Really!" Leaning close and lowering his voice, he asked, "Can we skip the desserts and just go with the honey, Mrs. Bartowski?"

"Mm-hmm," she hummed. "I'm one hundred percent on board with that, Mr. Bartowski. Moscow, here we come."


	39. From Russia With Love

**A/N: **Thank you for the tremendous response to the previous chapter as well as the greetings regarding the anniversary of this story. It was fantastic to hear from so many of you and to know you're still with me. I appreciate the time you take to leave a review and please know each one means a great deal to me.

**AgentInWaiting**, after fifty-five chapters in this universe, I think I've run out of pithy ways of recognizing you for all your hard work. So I'm going to simply say, "Thank you."

To my friend, Seattle: Thank you. Yes, the world can be a grim and difficult place. If this story can transport you and readers like you to a happier place away from the challenges of life—if only for a little while—and bring a smile to your face, then every moment I've put into this has been worth it. Q

**Chapter 39 – From Russia With Love**

The Bartowski Family Gamers and their retinue were in the air and on the way to Moscow, the final destination of their Grand European Tour. They had been traveling for nearly three weeks, visited seven cities and competed in six tournaments. As wonderful as most of the experience had been, it had also triggered its share of heartache, disappointment and fear. It had been an eventful trip and one they would remember and talk about for years to come. Still, Sarah was just about ready to go home.

Of course, the sudden change in plans where the family didn't get to go to Rome was a huge disappointment. The pounds of pasta that wouldn't be consumed, the shopping that wouldn't be done, the historic venues that wouldn't be visited and the public displays of affection that wouldn't be made were greatly mourned. In the end, Chuck and Sarah promised the kids they would take them on a trip to the city someday.

It wasn't until later in the evening the night before, when Chuck and Sarah started to ask Morgan more probing questions about their travels to Moscow, that they truly began to comprehend how the change had triggered a cascade of logistical issues and screw ups. When a sheen of perspiration formed across Morgan's forehead, Sarah knew he had something bad to tell them, something they didn't want to hear. She had been right. He had informed them that Buy More couldn't find the number of rooms they required in a decent hotel as it was the last minute during the height of the summer tourist season. The entire group, including the kids—and Casey—would be forced to stay in a hostel. Perhaps two, depending on availability. The color had completely drained from Morgan's face when Sarah's visage turned thunderous and she uttered a single, deathly quiet syllable: no. Within an hour of making a phone call to Director Graham, she received confirmation that two three-bedroom apartments would be awaiting them when they arrived in Moscow.

Sarah stuck the airline magazine she'd finished flipping through in the seat pocket in front of her and turned her attention to Megan. "Barbie, Joe and Dani had been in a dark, scary jail for three days," she recited as she moved her beloved Spy Barbie across the lowered tray table. Megan's sentence for taking Casey's trackers without permission had been served and when the major removed the figures from his duffle bag—their place of exile—and reunited child and dolls, happy and relieved smiles broke out on all faces.

"Why were they in jail?" Sarah asked.

Megan breathed a long-suffering sigh and shook her head. "That computer in Joe's brain is causing all kinds of problems again."

"Really? What kind of problems?"

"Joe doesn't want it in his head anymore and he found out there was a guy who could take it out for him without having to remove his whole brain."

Sarah couldn't stop a grin. "Well, that's a good thing. Taking Joe's brain out wouldn't be good for him at all."

"Nope," Megan replied sagely. "It really wouldn't."

"How did they end up in jail?"

"Even though Joe doesn't want the computer in his brain anymore, the people in charge of him do. Barbie wasn't supposed to help him sneak away and look for the man that could help him, but she did it anyway because she loves Joe and just wants him to be happy."

"That's pretty risky for them to sneak off like that," Sarah said. "I take it they got caught?"

Megan scowled. "Mm-hmm. They didn't know it, but somebody secretly stuck trackers on them so when they stopped to sleep, they got found."

"So they put them in jail so they wouldn't run away again?"

"Yup."

Sarah nodded with understanding. "How did Dani end up in jail with them?"

Megan gave the question a moment of thought. "She tried to break them out, but it didn't work. She got caught, too."

"That's too bad. It was very brave of Dani to try to help them escape, though."

Megan ran a hand over the doll's auburn hair. "Some people think Dani's kinda selfish and only thinks about herself. Barbie and Joe know she's not like that and actually really nice and cares about them."

It amazed Sarah at how perceptive the six year-old was. Assuming in Megan's mind Dani was Carina—and to Sarah that wasn't really much of a stretch—she saw the kind of loyal friend Carina really was. Even with her unpredictability and penchant for causing trouble. "I'm glad they're all friends," Sarah said. Tipping her head to one side, she asked, "What are Spy Barbie, Joe and Dani going to do now that they're out of jail? Do they still get to go on missions?"

"Uh-huh, 'cause they promised not to run away again and the bosses still need to use the computer in Joe's brain for stuff."

Sarah was about to ask what their next mission would be when Chuck walked up and crouched down in the aisle to talk to them. "How're my girls doing?"

One of the annoying problems that had come up due to the last minute itinerary change was that the seats for their group were scattered throughout the airplane. The poor guy behind the check-in counter at the airport had winced under Sarah's displeased, laser-like stare after he told her none of the group would be sitting together. She replied in no uncertain terms that the arrangement was unacceptable as there were young children flying with them. The young man had nervously tugged at the collar of his shirt, croaked, "I'll see what I can do," and typed furiously at his computer terminal for two solid minutes, all the while doing so under Sarah's formidable and watchful eye. He had not been able to get the entire group together, but he had managed to make sure the three youngest sat next to an adult. Sarah knew the fellow had done the best he could to accommodate them, so she thanked him and flashed a brilliant smile, causing him to nearly collapse in a relieved heap.

Megan never took her eyes off her doll. "We're doing good, Uncle Chuck. I'm just playing with Spy Barbie."

"How's it going with you?" Sarah asked.

"Bridget and I have our own little book nook going on. She's got _Pride and Prejudice_ and I'm reading the graphic novel _I, Frankenstein_."

"Huh. Never heard of it," Sarah said. "Is it good?"

"Come on, Sarah," he teased with an impish smile. "You've never heard of _Pride and Prejudice_? It's a classic."

"Haha," she said with a roll of her eyes. "What about everyone else?"

"Well, Curtis is sitting next to an elderly woman who hasn't quite figured out he doesn't speak German, Lizzie's asleep with her earbuds in and Lisa's playing some kind of word game on her phone. I have no idea what Vegas and Barstow are doing. They always manage to sort of melt in with the crowd. Oh, and Morgan's chatting up a young woman next to him. Little bearded dude is getting shot down."

"Poor Morgan. What's Fred doing?"

"You may not believe it, but he's writing a letter to Amy. He's gonna mail it to her when we get to Moscow."

Sarah reeled at the news. "Wow. Actually writing? With a pen on paper?"

"Yeah," Chuck nodded slowly. "The boy's been bit bad."

"Somebody bit Fred?" Megan asked with a frown.

"He's been bitten by the love bug," Chuck said with a grin, wiggling his fingers at her.

"There's a bug? I don't want to get bitten by a bug."

"We'll get you some bug spray," he replied, shooting a wink at Sarah. Megan nodded with approval as she adjusted Spy Barbie's top.

"I shouldn't laugh," Sarah said with a smirk at her husband. "It only encourages this kind of behavior."

"You love it."

"I do," she happily conceded with a sigh. "How are Casey and Martie?"

"Last I checked, he was explaining to her why James K. Polk ranks third as our country's greatest president after Abraham Lincoln and Ronald Reagan."

Snickering, Sarah said, "I'm sure she's enthralled."

His eyes twinkled. "He makes a strangely compelling case." He leaned in, and in a low, conspiratorial voice, said, "He was even using her crayons to draw a map of the US and fill in the land annexed during Polk's presidency."

Sarah laughed out loud. "Crayons, huh? That _is_ serious."

"Very," he stated with pretend solemnity. Considering her through squinted eyes, he asked, "Do you think we'll be able to get Casey in and out of Moscow without setting off an international crisis of some sort?"

"I think so. The Communists are gone. Just be glad all the Soviet gulags are closed down, at any rate."

"Good point. Speaking of Moscow, what's the plan once we land?"

She glanced down at her watch and then back at him. "Since the plane was late taking off, we won't land until around four-thirty Moscow time. We have to go through passport control which could take up to an hour." When his eyes widened at that bit of news, she said, "It'll be crowded and we'll have to keep a close eye on the kids, big time. I'm just glad our visas are in order."

"Then we get our luggage," he continued, "and wait for the van—" He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a hand over them in frustration. "Is there any chance the van that's supposed to pick us up will be there?"

Sarah made a face and held her thumb and index finger so close together they nearly touched.

"How do we get to the apartments then?"

"Don't worry. We'll figure something out." She wasn't exactly sure what it would be, but considering the fact that the airport was fifty kilometers from central Moscow, there had to be some way of getting to the city proper. "That's another forty-five minutes. At the earliest, it'll be seven o'clock by the time we get to the apartments." When Chuck groaned, she said, "At least with the time change, our bodies will only think it's four o'clock."

She smirked when he bounced an eyebrow and said, "My wife, the eternal optimist." When a scowling flight attendant had to scoot past him for the third time, he continued, "I'd better go back to my seat before they make me finish the flight out on one of the wings. I wonder if Shatner's gremlin is out there." When Sarah and Megan looked at each other in absolute confusion, he chuckled and said, "Never mind." He leaned in, first kissed Megan on the cheek, then kissed Sarah, before standing and going back to his seat.

Megan bent Dani's legs at the hips and set her on Sarah's thigh. "Uncle Chuck says some funny things sometimes, but I still love him anyway."

"Yeah." She smiled affectionately at her little girl. "Me, too."

~ O ~

Sarah knew Domodedovo Airport would be crowded. Most international airports in large cities were. But when they deplaned and were herded like cattle into the massive lines at passport control, it was much worse than she ever expected. The mooing noise Fred made as the pack of passengers slowed shuffled along garnered him disapproving glares from those around him. One serious look and a shake of the head from Chuck sobered him quickly.

The air conditioning wasn't working, which made everything worse. The oppressive, stagnant air infused with the smell of diesel fumes, body odor and stale cigarette smoke made her feel a little queasy. Thankfully, the bodies and air weren't as close once they reached the passport control desk. Casey was the first to have his papers checked at one of the kiosks. The major stood tall as the bored officer behind the desk mutely stared at his passport, lifted his head up to scrutinize Casey's face and then back down at the passport again. The officer smirked as he stamped the passport and Sarah heard him mutter the words "cop face" in Russian as he held the documents out for Casey to take. The major didn't move and his hand clenched into a fist.

Sarah placed her hand on his arm in the hopes of calming him and preventing a plunge into Casey's vein popping "red zone." His muscles felt taut and shook slightly under her hand. She had already noticed the flared nostrils and vague disdain on his face he had sported earlier. She was pretty sure he was reacting to the rather chaotic—or really nonexistent—crowd control in the area. And now, poking the big man with a verbal stick wasn't going to help at all.

"John," she said in an even tone, "we need you to wait with the kids until all of us get through. Please."

The muscles in his jaw worked while at the same time his hand relaxed. Sarah could tell he was still tense, like a compressed spring, but he remained silent as he snatched the documents from the officer. He gave the man a hard stare, turned on his heel and stalked away. He found a place not far beyond the desk and waited off to the side. Standing ramrod straight with shoulders squared and his jaw jutted, his blazing blue eyes conveyed a menacing, silent message of "approach at your own risk." His stance and position garnered him furtive glances from the officials behind the passport desk. An outbreak of intense, whispered conversations seemed to indicate that where Casey stood and waited was highly irregular. In the end, no one dared to approach the imposing, fearsome looking man and left him alone.

With Casey now in position, it was time to get the kids through. Chuck held Martie up and Sarah set Megan on her hip so all seven kids could be seen. If the officer was surprised at the number of children in the family, it didn't register on his face. He continued to appear bored and unimpressed.

"Are these your children?" he asked in Russian, his voice flat.

"_Da_," she answered without hesitation. His head snapped in an impressive double take, clearly not expecting Sarah's comprehension of the language nor her immediate response. An eyebrow arched, letting the officer know she was not to be messed with.

He pointed to Chuck and then held his palm up. Chuck placed his passport in the officer's awaiting hand.

He flipped it open and examined it. Then he pointed to Lizzie and requested her passport in the same fashion he had asked for Chuck's. A deep scowl formed when he opened it up and scrutinized it. Holding Chuck's passport in one hand and Lizzie's in the other, his eyes bounced back and forth as he compared the two.

"I cannot let you pass," the guard said, continuing in his native language. "The last names are different."

"They're adopted," Sarah replied. She knew he was only doing his job and the question had arisen before. It still always managed to irk her, though.

"I must see proof."

From her purse, Sarah took out seven pieces of paper. She unfolded and fingered through them until she found the one she was looking for. Pulling it from the stack, she held out the paper for the officer to see. "This is a photocopy of the signed, stamped and duly filed Final Decree of Adoption."

When he looked at her, she saw that he was still mildly surprised at her mastery of his language. He looked down at the paper she'd handed to him. His brows pulled together and he said, "Your passport, please."

After he scanned her documents, he asked, "Is this man your husband?"

"Yes."

"Your name does not appear on this decree."

"No," she answered through clenched teeth. She wasn't angry with the guard for pointing out the fact that she was not named on the adoption decrees. He was doing his job. It was the simple fact that she wasn't on the decrees that bothered her. There'd be a call to their lawyer the minute they got home to find out the status of her adoption of the kids. Still, the reason for her name not appearing on the document was none of the officer's concern. "My husband's name does appear and that's all that is needed as proof he is their legal parent."

Her argument was apparently persuasive since the man shrugged, stamped Lizzie's passport and handed it back to her. The teen hurried past and stood next to Casey, which set off another round of wary glances and hissed conversations between the officials. And yet none approached him.

The kids obviously picked up from Sarah, Casey and Chuck's demeanors the seriousness of their situation. The usual teasing and playfulness between siblings was absent. Instead, there was a rarely seen grim-faced solemnity. The guard must have appreciated how well behaved the kids were as they waited for each one to politely hand him his or her passport. By the time a wide-eyed Megan—still held protectively in Sarah's arms—handed over her passport to the officer, the man actually gave her a small smile. "Barbie," he said in English, indicating with a dip of his head the doll clutched in Megan's hand and pressed to her chest. "My daughter loves Barbie, too," he said to Sarah, switching back to Russian.

Megan smiled back at him when Sarah told her what he had said. Once he handed Megan's passport back to her, Sarah set her on her feet. Megan gave the man a shy wave before she zoomed off to join Casey and her siblings.

Morgan and Chuck were next and were processed fairly quickly. Sarah was the final one through. When the man handed back her documents, including the adoption papers, he said, "Enjoy your time in Moscow with your family."

His words touched her, especially since she had the feeling he didn't utter them very often. With a warm smile, she replied, "_Spasibo_."

She blew out a deep, relieved breath when they were all together again. Setting off, it wasn't long before they found the baggage claim area and met up with Barstow and Vegas who had gone there as soon as they'd passed through passport control. The good news was that they had spent so much time waiting to get their passports checked that their bags had beaten them there. The even better news was that all of their bags were present and accounted for. The bad news was they now had to stand in another long line to get through customs, which took nearly another hour. Finally making it out into the terminal proper, they withdrew a large sum of rubles from an ATM. After ascertaining there was indeed no van waiting to pick them up, Sarah made a few inquiries and came to learn that the best way to get to central Moscow was via an Aeroexpress train that ran directly from the Domodedovo terminal to the downtown Paveletsky rail terminal. A quick examination of the Moscow metro map confirmed they could jump on the Zamoskvoretskaya line—also known as the green line—at the Paveletskaya metro station to take them directly to the Tverskaya Street metro station. By the time they boarded the Aeroexpress train, they had been at the airport for two and a half hours.

After the stale air and crowds they had endured inside the airport, the roomy and air-conditioned train car was like an oasis. Chuck sank down in the seat next to his wife, dropped his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. "Ahhhhh," he sighed happily as if he was lying on a bed of goose down.

"Better?" Sarah asked with a chuckle.

"Mm-hmm. It's amazing how some cool air and a chance to sit down can make life worth living again."

"It was a bit of an ordeal, wasn't it?"

His head turned toward her and looked at her one-eyed. "A bit? When we were at passport control, I was convinced we were all gonna end up in some kind of diplomatic limbo where we'd have to live in a Russian airport for the rest of our lives." His eye closed again and he put his hand over hers. "If you hadn't been there, my multilingual wife, we'd still be standing at that podium."

"It's nice to know my skill set is being put to good use."

She smirked as she watched his mischievous smile grow. "While I _have_ been enjoying your mad language skills and general ninja kickassery," he looked at her one-eyed again and dropped his voice, "which was unbelievably epic and incredibly hot when you took out Lena Bauer the other night, I must confess I miss your skills that are of a more personal nature."

"Hmmm. Personal, huh?" Her eyes went wide with innocence when she asked, "You mean like how I never cut myself when I shave my legs?"

His eyes flew open and his entire body jolted like he'd stuck a fork in a light socket. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn she saw thin tendrils of smoke curling up from his hair. "If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, Mrs. Bartowski, the image of you shaving your legs in a bathtub full of bubbles and I are going to spend some quality time in my happy place." With that, he laced his fingers together and rested them on his chest. He closed his eyes and his only movement was the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Apparently quickly and firmly ensconced in his happy place, a contented smile appeared on his face.

As Sarah watched him for a moment, pleased to see him so cheerful and relaxed, a woman selling bottles of water walked up the aisle. She flagged the woman down, paid for thirteen bottles and took two. Pointing the kids across the aisle and directly behind her, she instructed the woman to distribute the rest to the seven children, the three men with them and the little guy with the beard. Once the bottles were disbursed and the woman moved off, Sarah unscrewed the cap of her bottle and took a long drink.

When Chuck opened his eyes and sat up straight, she handed him his water and said, "Welcome back. Pleasant time?"

"Mm-hmm. Maybe someday soon I could admire your razor wielding skills in person again." He took a sip from his bottle.

"I'm sure a demonstration can be arranged." She twisted in her seat to face him and winced at the twinge between her shoulder blades.

He bolted up straight with sudden concern. "Sarah? What is it? Are you okay?"

She rolled her shoulders and when she twisted around a little further, a cascade of snaps and pops rippled up and down her spine. It felt pretty fantastic to her, but from the way Chuck flinched, it must not have sounded very good. "I'm fine. I'm still a little sore from taking Bauer out. Occupational hazard."

He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and let his thumb softly trace along the outside of it. "Is there anything I can do?"

She rested her elbows on the armrest between them and leaned closer. "If our sleeping arrangements at the apartment are what I hope they are, I'm sure we can come up with something."

She tingled from toes to scalp when he launched a full smolder offensive. "I'll get to work on that." The tingle turned to sparks when he closed the gap and pressed his lips to hers. They allowed themselves to linger longer than they probably should have, and when a feeling of urgency crept in, they both reluctantly pulled away.

Needing to get a little distance from him, she turned forward again and guzzled down the rest of her water. Apparently, Chuck was feeling the same way. He shifted in his seat and muttered under his breath about pouring water over his head instead of drinking it. In the silence that followed, the air between them was charged and still, like the seconds before a lightning strike. Neither dared to make eye contact with the other. However, the more they tried to ignore the palpable temptation between them, the stronger the pull became.

"I'm gonna—" Chuck croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. Hitching a thumb, he said, "I'm gonna go see how Morgan's doing."

Her nod was tight. She made the mistake of glancing at him at the same time he looked at her. The desire burning in his eyes made her whole body flush hot. How she wasn't turned to a pile of ash and cinders, she didn't know. She swallowed hard and managed a whispered, "Okay." As he leapt up and fled to the seat next to Morgan, Sarah sucked in a deep breath through her nose and blew it out between her lips. A bottle of water dumped on her head was sounding pretty good right about then.

~ O ~

The first thing Sarah wanted to do after touring through the apartment she, Chuck and the girls were staying in was send Director Graham a giant gift basket with a big purple ribbon that screamed, "Thank you" in fancy gold letters, much like the welcome basket full of goodies sitting on the dining room table. The apartment slept eight comfortably, which meant she and Chuck would have their room completely to themselves. Not only that, but the apartment was equipped with not one, but two air-conditioners, both of which pumped cool air into the rooms. The second thing she wanted to do would have to wait until the kids went to bed. Simply knowing that she and Chuck would be alone later was enough to buoy her spirits even though she—like everyone else—was hungry and tired.

It was nearly nine o'clock by the time they sorted out who would sleep in which bedrooms for both apartments. Since they hadn't even eaten dinner yet, it was going to be a late night for everyone. That wasn't going to be an issue that evening since to their bodies, it felt three hours earlier. Getting up in the morning would be the challenge.

Having traveled all day, the last thing any of them wanted to do was go out again for dinner. The food in the welcome basket disappeared almost immediately. Finding a place to buy groceries and then cook was a non-starter. Sarah did some quick research on her laptop and when she announced she found a pizzeria that delivered anything on their menu, the explosion of cheers nearly shook the walls. After looking over the English version of the menu on the website and drooling over the pictures of the different pizzas, pastas and entrees available, the choices of toppings on the pizzas were made. One side of Casey's mouth lifted in a smile when he ordered a rib eye steak while Sarah ordered a delicious looking tagliatelle with mushrooms for herself.

She sent in the order and within two minutes, her phone rang. She wasn't surprised since the instructions for placing a delivery order said the restaurant would call to confirm. "It is a very big order and it will take time to bake all of the pizzas. It is a very busy time for us on a Saturday night," the woman said, clearly preparing Sarah for news she probably wasn't going to be very excited about. "I just want to let you know that it could take up to two hours for your food to arrive."

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. She appreciated the woman's honesty and heard the dismay in her voice at having to convey that bit of information. They really had no choice, though. It was getting late, everyone was tired and it really was the only option they had to get any food that evening without going out again. "I understand," she replied opening her eyes to find Chuck standing next to her, his face questioning. She patted his chest and rolled her eyes. "I know it's a large order and I'm sure you're very busy. However, my family and I have been traveling all day and would like to eat as soon as possible." She paused and thought for a moment. "Would a forty percent tip be an incentive to get our food here within an hour?"

Sarah jerked the phone away from her ear when there was a loud, clunking sound at the other end. "I think she dropped the phone," she whispered to her husband. Considering the total amount of all the food they'd ordered, her offer was substantial.

"What's up?" Chuck asked. Had her conversation with the woman at the restaurant been in English, he might have been able to figure out what was going on. However, since the discussion was in Russian, he was completely in the dark.

She pressed the phone back against her ear and swiveled the microphone part down by her jaw and away from her mouth. "They said it could take—"

The woman sounded a bit breathless when she spoke again. "We can't promise, but we'll do what we can."

Disappointed but not surprised, Sarah swiveled the mouthpiece up to her lips. "I understand. Thank you anyway." She ended the call and told Chuck, "It could take up to two hours for our food to get here. I offered a big tip if they got it here quicker, but they couldn't promise anything."

Chuck's shoulder slumped and he groaned quietly. His disappointment disappeared forty minutes later when their food was brought to the apartment by not one, but two delivery people. Sarah happily added the promised large tip when she paid the bill. Closing the door once the giddy delivery people left, Sarah turned to find the room strangely void of talking. The only sounds she heard were the "yummy" noises as everyone stuffed food in their mouths. Her stomach growled reminding her she needed to get into the feeding frenzy. It only took one bite of pasta before she joined in the chorus.

~ O ~

Eating dinner at ten o'clock was an exciting novelty that had wound the kids up, especially the youngest two, and it was midnight before the apartment was finally quiet. Fortunately, that meant it was only nine o'clock to their bodies since they were still on Vienna time, so while it had taken a couple of more chapters of the current _Artemis Fowl_ book than it usually did to get Martie and Megan to settle down, they hadn't "gone to the bad place" of being so overly tired they were beyond help. They were, like everyone, tired from the full day of traveling, so going to bed at whatever time it happened to be was welcome.

Everyone else was in bed, except Sarah, who had one last stop. She took a small take-out container from the refrigerator, snatched a fork from a drawer and switched off the light in the kitchen. Barefoot, she silently padded through the living room toward the hallway. The illumination coming from Lisa's small book light was the only thing keeping Sarah from crashing into the furniture in the unfamiliar room.

"Thanks for letting me have a room to myself," Lisa said quietly from the sofa bed.

Sarah changed course, went over to her niece and kissed her on the forehead. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she said, "You're welcome. It seems only fair since Lizzie got the living room space in Prague. It's your turn here in Moscow." Sarah cocked her head. "Is it weird? Have you ever slept in a room by yourself?"

Lisa scrunched her brows together in thought. A bemused smile spread on her face. "I can't think of one single time in my whole life. I shared a room with Lizzie before…" Her smile disappeared and hurt flashed in her eyes. She paused and swallowed hard. "Now I share a room with Bridget." The pain in her eyes receded, but her chuckle was without mirth. "How sad is that?"

Sarah shook her head. "Not sad at all. Take it from an only child who always thought sharing a room with a sister would have been pretty cool."

"Maybe," Lisa replied, the smile returning. "So far I like being by myself for once. I'll take it even if it is only for a couple of nights."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, then."

Lisa cut her eyes toward her. "Maybe when Lizzie goes to college, I can have her room?"

Just the thought of her eldest going away to school made Sarah's heart ache. "We'll see. I'm sure Fred will have something to say about that."

"You're right. He _is_ older," Lisa said with a huff. Her eyes dropped to the container and fork resting on Sarah's lap. "What's that?"

"It's an Italian dessert called tiramisu. I didn't get a chance to eat it earlier, so I thought I'd have it as a snack before going to bed." She kept her voice matter-of-fact hoping that Lisa wouldn't think twice about what her aunt and uncle might do with a dessert in their bedroom. Had she been talking to Lizzie—who had been exposed first-hand to the remnants of the food and drink Chuck and Sarah had enjoyed in private—the teen would have been snorting and rolling her eyes. She also didn't mention the honeycomb in the box next to the tiramisu. When she had seen that on the dessert menu, she knew she had to order it.

"I think it's funny that we didn't get to go to Rome, but ended up eating Italian food anyway," Lisa said with a snicker.

Sarah smiled back. "Who knew Moscow had such a great Italian restaurant?" She patted Lisa's leg and said, "You can read for a few more minutes, but then lights out. We have a busy day tomorrow."

"Okay. G'night."

"Good night." After kissing Lisa's forehead again, she stood and walked down the hall. Chuck had gone to their room when she'd been reading to the girls, so she assumed she'd find him in bed reading or working on his laptop. She opened the door, took a couple of steps in and then stopped. "Chuck, what…" The room was bathed in a faint glow, the covers of the wide, king bed were neatly folded back and music played softly in the background.

He jumped up from where he'd been sitting on the bed waiting for her—wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a smile—and stood next to her. He lifted the container from her hand and held it up as he quietly shut and locked the door behind her. "What's this?"

"Tiramisu," she answered slowly. "I ordered it as a surprise."

His eyes flashed with delight. "Awesome. Do you mind if we, um, enjoy this together in a little while? I sort of have a surprise for you, too."

"Sure, we can have it…" Her voice drifted off when she looked at the flickering image on the screen of Chuck's laptop sitting on one of the nightstands. "Is that…?"

"Mm-hmm. It's a video of a fireplace burning some logs." He gave her a crooked smile, lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "I wanted to put some lit candles around the room, but I couldn't find any in the apartment. So I thought, 'Hey! I bet there're videos of candles burning.' I did find some, but most of them are pretty short." He bounced his eyebrows at her suggestively. "We're gonna need longer than ten minutes."

The way her heart thumped and her mouth went dry, she felt like she'd just finished running a marathon. Her pulse soared higher when he turned a little to set the box on the nightstand, earning her an eyeful of his impressively broad shoulders. A low, appreciative hum vibrated in her chest.

Straightening, his eyes widened as if he suddenly remembered something else. "There're also videos of Christmas candles that are a lot longer, but those just seemed wrong since, you know, it's officially July now. So I went with the fireplace. Hope you don't mind."

She didn't really comprehend what Christmas had to do with anything, since her brain was still stuck on his wide, bare chest, waggling eyebrows and boxer shorts. Mutely, she shook her head.

"Good." Facing her, he stepped closer and gave her an enigmatic smile. He fingered the hem of her shirt and lifted it a little. "May I?"

Staring into his eyes, she could only manage the faintest of nods and then raised her arms. She shivered when his fingers grazed up her sides as he took his time pulling off her top.

Once it was off and discarded to who knew where, she lowered her arms to her side. She actually stopped breathing when he traced his finger lightly down the shoulder strap of her bra and over the lacy material covering her. A hint of a smile flickered on his face. "Purple."

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, forcing herself to breathe again. Even though her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like it was glued to roof of it, she swallowed anyway and waited for what he would do next. His gaze drifted back up to her eyes as his hands lowered to rest on her hips. It surprised her when she didn't feel a tug to lower her jeans when he hooked his thumbs in the tight space between her skin and the waistband. It was deliciously excruciating, standing so close to him, basking in the heat radiating from his body and waiting for him to continue, wanting him to continue. And yet he remained still, his eyes never leaving hers. When she couldn't stand it any longer, when she felt like a bottle of champagne with its cork about to pop, she undid the button and lowered the zipper herself. The only change on his face was the approving twitch of an eyebrow. He pushed his thumbs down and lowered her jeans past her hips. Gravity took over and the denims pooled on the floor at her feet. She stepped out of them and kicked them away.

He cupped her face with his hand and their lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss. When he suddenly put his hands on her waist, lifted her up and tossed her onto the bed she let a surprised yelp and then giggled. He didn't immediately crawl onto the bed and lie down next to her, however, causing her brow to furrow. Instead, he gave her another mysterious smile and said, "Roll over on your stomach."

At her bemused gaze and arched eyebrow, he added, "Please?"

She did as requested, flipped over onto her front and turned her face to the right. She felt the mattress bounce and dip under his weight as he straddled her legs, his knees pressing into the bed on either side of her hips. He sat back and asked from behind, "Am I too heavy?"

"No. You're fine." She barely felt his weight and assumed his heels were bearing most of it.

She closed her eyes and heaved a deep contented sigh. She shuddered when he gently brushed her hair away from her neck. He then carefully unhooked her bra and flipped the back straps to the side. "If I'd have known you were going to do _that_ tonight, I'd have worn a bra that hooked in the front." Then she raised herself up enough to remove the bra and flung it across the room.

Lying flat again, a tiny smirk formed on her face when he made a funny wheezing sound. "You trying to kill me?" he teased. "'Cause if you kill me, all this," she felt him move as he waved his hand around in a circle, "can't happen."

"Sorry," she murmured into her crooked elbow.

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not. Please continue anyway."

"Fine," he sniffed, pretending to be deeply affronted. "I will, but only because I love you."

She grinned and opened an eye. She watched him reach under one of the pillows at head of the bed and take out a medium sized brown plastic bottle. He flipped up the top of the cap and poured some of the rich, yellow liquid into his cupped palm. After he set the bottle on the nightstand, he slowly rubbed his palms together a few times and then lightly slid them up and down her back.

Her eye drifted closed and she reveled in his tender touch. The scent of lavender and chamomile wafted over her as his hands rubbed the massage oil all over her back, shoulders and arms. When his hands came to rest on the lowest part of her back and his thumbs began to gently knead the tissue along her spine, she took a deep breath and blew out a blissful sigh as every muscle in her body relaxed quite suddenly and all at once.

"Wow. You just went limp like a rag doll."

"Mmmmmm."

He slid his hands up her back a fraction and his thumbs started their work on a new set of muscles. She'd never felt anything like it and didn't even try to stop the euphoric groan.

She heard the smile in his voice when he asked, "I'm doing okay?"

"Mmmmmm." It took a bit of effort to simply make that sound.

"Because I actually don't know what I'm doing."

"Mmmmmm."

"Okay, then."

They fell silent again. The only sounds in the room were the piano music and her rapturous moans whenever he started massaging a new spot. She was in absolute heaven.

She heard a sudden and sharp intake of air. His fingertips lightly brushed over her skin below her left shoulder blade. "Honey, you have a mean looking bruise right there." Then she felt his thumb gently trace a section of her ribcage on her right side. "And another one over here." His pause indicated to her he was inspecting the rest of her for bruises. Finding another on her upper arm, he touched it and asked, "Do they hurt much?"

"A little. I've had worse."

"That doesn't make me feel a whole lot better. I wish you'd have let me tranq her."

"And have me miss out on the chance to beat the crap out of that double-crossing shrew? Nuh-uh." Warmth exploded in her when she felt him lean forward and softly kiss each of the bruises he'd found. When he sat up again, she hummed, "And for you to kiss my boo-boos? Totally worth it."

"How about I kiss you like that even without the bruises?"

Now she tingled from head to toe. "Yes, please."

His lips grazed her neck before his fingers began to massage it. The warm tone of a cello accompanied by a piano began to play. The piece was melodic and beautiful, but at the same time it was infused with such melancholy, such a sweet sadness and it moved her so profoundly that her heart ached. When the final soaring note faded away, her entire body was inundated with chills.

"Can we listen to that again?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"Sure." She felt the bed shake a little when he leaned over and reached out toward the computer. The music started again and his hands returned to her back.

"This has to be one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard," she said quietly.

"I'm glad you like it. It's by Rachmaninoff. I figured since we're in Moscow, it was time to listen to some Russian composers." He couldn't hide the pride in his voice when he added, "It's a little something I remembered."

"_You_ remembered?"

"Mm-hmm." She felt him reposition himself and after a brief pause where he poured more oil into his palm, he began to massage her left calf.

"Oh! Oh god, Chuck," she moaned. What his hands were doing… Her mind went blank. All she knew was the rubbing and the kneading and the squeezing.

His voice brought her back before her brain turned to complete mush. "Ellie took a music class at UCLA on Rachmaninoff." She tried to focus on what he was saying. "It was one of those huge classes with hundreds of people in it."

"Mm-hmm."

"Oh, good," he said, chuckling. "You're still with me. I thought maybe I'd lost you after that last reaction of yours."

"Almost."

"Only almost? I'll have to try harder next time."

She gasped when his hands glided leisurely up her thigh. "Oh god, Chuck," she said in almost a whimper. "You trying to kill me? 'Cause my brain can't think of anything but what your hands are doing."

"Sorry," he murmured.

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not. Not even a little." After another minute, he asked, "Should I be quiet or do you want to hear the rest of the story?"

"As long as your hands keep doing what they're doing, you can tell the story in Klingon and I'll happily listen."

"I'll skip the Klingon," he said with a snort. "Anyway, one of the things Ellie had to do for the final was to be able to recognize different pieces written by Rachmaninoff when she heard them, so she played them over the stereo all the time." He paused as if lost in the memory. "I helped her study. She gave me the list of songs on a piece of paper and I'd do a random shuffle on the CD player. Then she'd have to tell me the name of song that came up."

He shifted again and started to massage Sarah's other calf. After another moment, he said, "I was in high school then. I remember this one night I was trying to study for a math test and she had Rachmaninoff blasting through the house. I couldn't concentrate and I got so mad. I stormed out of my room and yelled, 'Turn that off! If I have to listen to _Vocalise, opus 34, number 14_ one more time, I'm gonna go insane!'" He was laughing now. "She looked at me and just fell out laughing. When I realized what I'd said, I cracked up, too. We must have laughed for ten minutes."

Sarah joined in with his laughter, picturing Chuck and Ellie having such a fun time together. "Poor Devon came home and had no idea why his pregnant wife and her brother couldn't even sit up because they were laughing too hard. Which, of course, made it even funnier. It was probably another ten minutes before we got ourselves under control enough to explain to him that I was as ready to take Ellie's final as she was."

Their laughter subsided and Sarah heard the wistfulness his voice when he said, "I'd forgotten all about it until I starting thinking about music for tonight. And when I thought of Rachmaninoff, _Vocalise_ just popped into my brain."

She pushed up onto her elbows, twisted around and sat up. Seeing his back to her, she put a hand on each of his shoulders and pulled on him until he flopped back onto the mattress. She lay down next to him, turned on her side and draped an arm and leg across him. Propping her head on her other hand, she looked into his face as he stared up at the ceiling. "I can't even fathom how much you must miss her."

He blew out a breath. "I do. But I have the kids." He rolled his head so they were face-to-face. "And you." The love she saw in his eyes warmed her. "You're all I need."

She moved her hand from his chest to the side of his face. Shifting so that her face hovered over his, she moistened her parted lips and then brushed them tantalizingly over his. When he lifted his head off the mattress a little, she pressed her mouth on his. The kiss was soft and luxurious and sensual and unhurried. Her body hummed in reaction and she rolled on top of him, covering him like a blanket. "Right now, all I need is you," she whispered and kissed him again.

~ O ~

The sky was cloudy and gray. It threatened rain, which wasn't that surprising since July was the rainiest month of the year in Moscow. If they could get their sightseeing done in Red Square before the skies opened up, it would be considered a good day.

All thirteen members of the group stood outside St. Basil's Cathedral taking turns having their picture taken in front of one of the most iconic and recognizable buildings in the entire world. All except for Casey, who had a permanent sour look on his face and continually grumbled under his breath about the "lingering stench of 'commie.'"

"Come on, Uncle Casey," Lizzie said, pushing him on one arm while Lisa pulled on the other, dragging the big man into a group shot with all the kids. "You should like this building. I read that Stalin wanted to have it demolished but the architect he told to do it said _nyet_. The guy ended up in prison for five years because of it."

Lisa piled on with, "You owe him a picture in front of it for his heroism."

Sarah couldn't help but chuckle. If anyone could get her partner to do something he didn't want to do, it was the girls. Everyone knew he was wrapped around each of their little fingers. And everyone knew better than to point it out to him.

Chuck stood next to Sarah and held his phone up, ready to take a picture. "Okay, everyone. Smile. And Casey? All I'm asking from you is a little less of a scowl. Try to look like you smell something pleasant, like gunpowder, instead of rancid cheese." He took the picture when Casey's eyes went less squinty and his brow unfurrowed.

Chuck held out the phone for Sarah to inspect the picture. Casey hadn't smiled—there wasn't even a hint of one—but all the kids had huge grins on their faces. In the background were the brightly painted onion domes that sat atop the cluster of towers decorated with intricate and colorful geometric designs. "Very nice. One of my new favorite pictures, even if everyone is wearing their Buy More uniforms."

Snickering, Chuck said, "As if the size of our group doesn't already call attention to us."

After a few more pictures, the group headed for the entrance to tour the interior of the cathedral. "Hey," Fred called out. "Is it true that Ivan the Terrible blinded the guys who designed the church so they couldn't build anything else like it?"

Megan's hand tightened around Sarah's fingers. Wide eyed, she looked up and asked her aunt, "That was his name? He was really terrible? Did he dig people's eyes out?"

Sarah looked over at Fred and pulled a "thanks a lot" face. He cheekily grinned back at her. "I don't think the thing about blinding those men is true, but he probably did some other pretty rotten things to be called 'the Terrible.' People usually don't get nicknames like that unless they earn it for some reason."

Chuck scooped up Megan and set her on his shoulders. "I think I'd rather been known as 'the Terrible' instead of 'the Stinky.'" Megan clamped both hands over her mouth and giggled.

"Uncle Chuck," Lisa said. "You'd be 'the Nerd.'"

"Ha! 'Chuck the Nerd.' A name I'd be proud to use."

"There's Vlad the Impaler," Morgan interjected.

Martie tugged on Casey's hand. "What's an 'impala?'"

Casey grumbled quietly under his breath, "Bearded moron." He glowered at Morgan and then answered, "It's a Chevy."

There were grins on the faces of the adults and older kids while Martie's face scrunched in confusion. "Huh?"

The cathedral wasn't one large impressive room like most of the other cathedrals they'd seen, but rather a series of smaller chapels connected to each other through a labyrinth of narrow passages and spiraling staircases. Most of them had to hunch to pass under the low archways. Casey filled the smaller areas by himself prompting Martie to say he looked like a giant.

Although most of the chapels had vaulted ceilings, there wasn't a lot of actual floor space and the rooms were small. Each chapel was different, but most featured ornately decorated walls of gold, reds, blues and greens. Icons of various sizes and shapes were incorporated on the walls depicting saints, Apostles, patriarchs and the golden haloed Madonna and Child.

Sarah found the artwork and architecture interesting in each of the individual chapels, but when she noticed everyone else in the group starting to grow restless and bored, she suggested they move on. After spending thirty minutes inside the cramped and mazelike cathedral, it was nice to be back out into the fresh air and open space of Red Square.

The fingers of one of Sarah's hands were laced with Chuck's, one of the charms of her bracelet caught between their palms, while the other hand held Megan's. As they strolled along the square, the little girl looked up at her and asked, "Aunt Sarah? Why are the signs wrong?"

"Wrong? What do you mean?"

"Some of the letters on the signs are wrong. Like the 'Rs' and 'Ns' are backwards." Her eyebrows lowered when she frowned. "And there are some letters I've never seen before. I thought I learned all of alphabet in kindergarten, but I don't think they taught me some."

"You think your teacher was holding out on you?" Chuck asked with a laugh.

Martie ran up and walked next to her sister. "Yeah! I saw one sign that looked like one of the letters was a forward and backward 'K' stuck together." Megan nodded excitedly at Martie and then turned to look up to her aunt again. "I saw that one, too." Sarah fought the grin that wanted to take over at the challenging look on Megan's face.

"Don't worry, sweetie," Sarah said with a smile. "Your teacher taught you all twenty-six letters we use in English. Russian uses what are called Cyrillic letters. Some of them look ours, some of them don't."

"Hey, Aunt Sarah?" Lisa called out from the middle of the pack. "Do the letters that look the same in both sound the same, too?"

"Good question." She thought about it for a minute and then answered, "A few do, but not many. For instance, 'M', 'T', and 'K' are the same."

"Which ones don't?" Lizzie asked.

"Let's see. The Russian letter that looks like an 'X' sounds like an 'H' in hat." Pointing to the late nineteenth century, three story building that ran the length of the east side of the square, she said, "Do you see the letters above the main entrance between the two spires?"

They all turned at looked at the Cyrillic letters ГУМ. "The ones that look like 'rim' in English?" Curtis asked.

"Mm-hmm. In English they spell it 'G-U-M' but it's actually pronounced 'goom.' It used to be a state run department store. Now it's a shopping mall."

"The Buy More is in there," Morgan said proudly. "That's where we'll be playing our tournament in a little while."

"Which is why we thought checking out Red Square before the tournament would work out so well," Chuck said. "We're right here."

The group stopped in front of a squat pyramid-shaped building. Its layers of red granite were nearly the same color as the tall brick Kremlin wall behind it. There was one layer of black marble standing out amongst the red. Five large, red Cyrillic letters were imbedded into the black layer.

"What's that say, Aunt Sarah?" Fred asked.

She hesitated, glancing over at Casey who eyed the building suspiciously. She sighed and answered, "It says, 'Lenin.'"

The corner of Casey's lip pulled up in a sneer while at the same time a dangerous growl rumbled deep in the big man's chest. He threw his shoulders back, stretched to his full height and stated in a flat voice, "I'm not going in there."

"Why?" Lisa asked. "What is it?"

"It's Lenin's tomb," Sarah answered. "His body is on permanent display inside."

"Cool!" Fred breathed. "Is he all shriveled up with gross skin hanging off his face and stuff? Maybe he looks like a zombie."

The small hand in Sarah's jerked. "He's dead and in a tomb, but people can still see him? And he's dead?" Megan asked. There wasn't fear in Megan's voice. She sounded more incredulous, like it was the worst idea in the entire world. It was Martie's face that showed concern.

"Yes," Sarah answered. She knew immediately the two should stay outside.

She turned to Chuck who, as if he knew exactly what she was about to say, whispered, "I don't think Martie and Megan should go inside."

"What about the others?" she asked.

"Fred's on board," he said, his tone still low. "He's hoping to see a zombie. Let's just let each decide." Sarah nodded and gave him a "be my guest" motion with her hand.

Chuck nodded and announced to the group, "Seeing a dead body isn't for everyone. Aunt Sarah and I have decided that it would be best if Martie and Megan stayed out here in the square with Uncle Casey." The major shot Chuck a look of approval and snapped his head once in a sharp nod.

"You don't like dead bodies either, Uncle Casey?" Martie asked. The relief on her face was clear.

"Don't mind bodies so much as it's _this_ guy's dead body," he said with a hitch of his thumb toward the building. "I'm not gonna go look at a commie who hated freedom and democracy and everything I believe in and fight for." He crossed his arms defiantly across his chest and lowered his gaze to look at first Martie and then Megan. "You're both better off staying out here with me." Obviously moved by Casey's impassioned words—and relieved that they wouldn't have to go near a dead body—both girls marched over and stood on either side of him. They crossed their arms across their chests just as he did as if in a show of solidarity.

Sarah felt a giggle bubble up at the sight of the two little girls mirroring her partner, all the way down to the squinting eyes and wide-set stance.

"Right," Chuck said, also clearly enjoying the tableau. "Aunt Sarah and I are going to go in. It's up to you if you want to go with us or not. Anyone who doesn't can stay out here with Uncle Casey, Martie and Megan." He must have noticed the same unsure look on Bridget's face Sarah saw because he quickly added, "Bridget, I'm sure Uncle Casey would be happy if you stayed with him, too."

Her eyes brightened and she nodded. "I'd like that."

Barstow was the next to speak up. "I'll stay out here with Major Casey." He gave no explanation, but Sarah noticed the nearly imperceptible jut of his chin.

The five who were to wait outside found a marble bench to sit on and were promptly loaded down with all the bags and other objects not allowed inside the mausoleum. Assured that no one in their group would set off metal detectors or draw attention to themselves, they joined the queue that ran along the Kremlin wall.

"I'm confused," Curtis said. As they shuffled slowly along in the line, they filed past grave markers and busts of famous Russians buried near the wall.

"Yeah? What are you confused about?" Chuck asked.

"It makes sense that they have all these famous Russian guys buried along here, but what I don't get is why the Russians would give a British guy a fancy tomb with a building and stuff. And why Uncle Casey hates him so much."

Sarah's brows pulled together in confusion. "Lenin wasn't British. He was Russian."

Curtis shook his head emphatically. "No. I'm sure he was British. All four of them were."

Sarah was completely flummoxed as she looked up at Chuck. He looked as puzzled as she felt.

Lizzie groaned, rolled her eyes and gave her brother a gentle shove on the shoulder. "We're gonna see the body of _Vladimir_ Lenin, the Russian communist leader. _John_ Lennon was British and one of the Beatles."

Fred snorted at his brother's mistake while Curtis dipped his head with an embarrassed smile. "Oh."

Chuck ruffled his nephew's hair and grinned at him. "Don't worry about it. The names do sound similar and the Beatles have that song, 'Back in the USSR.' I can see it."

"Me, too," Sarah said.

Curtis made a face at his brother and sister. "See?" They only chuckled and rolled their eyes again.

To Sarah, Chuck said, "I thought you didn't know much about popular music."

"Please," she said with a smirk, slapping him good-naturedly on the chest. "I know about the Beatles. I didn't live under a rock, you know. Or spend my high school years listening to Rachmaninoff."

"Touché," Chuck said with a small bow.

After a forty-five minute wait, they reached the front doors into the building and successfully passed through security. Just before they were ushered by a guard into the room where the tomb was placed, Sarah reminded those in her group to remain silent while they were in there. She was a little worried that any one of them, except for perhaps Lizzie, would fire off a quip that could get them unceremoniously removed from the room. She hoped her serious expression would drive home the point.

In the middle of the small, dimly lit room they saw the tomb. The top had the same flat pyramid design reminiscent of the building in which they stood. Ornately carved wood looking like fringed cloth draped over the sides of the bier. Lenin's body, laying in repose behind bulletproof glass, was dressed in a dark suit. His hands rested on his thighs, his right hand clenched in a fist while his left was open. With his bald pate, mustache and goatee, he looked like Sarah had seen him in pictures. It was remarkable to think the man had been dead for over seventy-five years. The embalmers had done a heroic job of keeping him preserved.

The room was silent other than the footfalls as observers filed past. When two young men behind Sarah whispered and snickered, the sound cut through the silence like a sudden clap of thunder. One of the several guards stationed throughout the room shushed them like an annoyed librarian. Sarah could tell by glancing at the suddenly wide-eyed of members of her group that they were all glad they weren't targeted for reprimand.

They weren't allowed to linger and were shepherded past the tomb. Guards kept the line moving along and soon the group found themselves back outside in Red Square. Even with the overcast skies, everyone blinked at the light as they emerged from the dimness of the building. They walked back toward the bench where they had left Casey, Barstow and the three girls only to find they were no longer sitting there. Sarah's gaze swept the area and spotted them sitting several benches down from the one they started on.

"Why'd you guys move?" Lisa asked.

"We went for a walk to get away from the guys dressed up like Lenin and Stalin," Bridget said, pointing at two men walking around the square not far away. "They came up to us and said, 'Picture with you. One hundred rubles.' I think it was the only English they knew."

"We walked that way," Megan said, swinging her arm and pointing along the Kremlin wall to the north, "and went around that corner. There were these two soldiers standing there next to this big star in the ground that had fire coming out of the middle of it."

Martie picked up the story. "There was a big group of people standing in front of them like they were waiting for something to happen. A few minutes later, these three other soldiers came marching down the sidewalk."

As if receiving a prompt, Megan jumped off the bench. "They marched like this!" She kicked her foot up high, keeping her knee straight while at the same time swinging the opposite arm up and bending it in front of her chest. Then she brought the foot down, leg still straight and lifted the other foot. She marched like that for several yards and then made a smart about-face. A huge smile overtook her face when she earned the applause of her family as she headed back.

"That's some nice goose-stepping you got going on there, Megan," Chuck said scooping her up and kissing her cheek when she marched in front of him. She wrapped her short arms around his neck and kissed his cheek in return.

"What were they doing?" Fred wanted to know.

Curtis looked at his brother and nodded. "Yeah. What's the deal with the fire in the ground?"

"I looked it up on my phone," Barstow said. "It's the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The eternal flame is there as a memorial."

For the first time, Casey spoke up. "The remains of some of the heroes who died fighting the Nazis during the Battle of Moscow are buried there. They died defending their families and their city and their country." His voice was low and his face somber. It was clear that the memorial had moved him.

Martie gazed up at Casey and said with awe filling her voice, "Yeah. They don't even know the men's names."

"What we saw was the changing of the guards," Barstow continued.

"It wasn't as big as when we saw all the guards at Buckingham Palace," Bridget said, "but it was still really cool."

Morgan cleared his throat and stepped forward. "I hate to bring this up, but the tournament's supposed to start in an hour and a half."

Chuck, Megan still in his arms, said, "Morgan's right. Let's go and see if we can find a place to eat lunch in GUM and then go to the Buy More."

From the inside of the large building, no one would ever know that it used to be a Soviet department store where the citizens of Moscow used to line up to buy goods since it was one of the few stores that didn't suffer from shortages. The turn of the century architecture was stately and elegant. The glass and steel-framed roof reminded Sarah of the one at St. Pancras railway station in London.

"Doesn't look like any of our malls back in Colorado," Lizzie said, craning her neck as she looked up the three levels of shops.

"Sure doesn't," Sarah agreed. She looked at a directory to figure out the best place to eat. Snorting, she whispered to Chuck, "I think it might be best if we skip the Soviet style restaurant. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier seems to have thawed Casey a little but him eating there might just launch another Cold War."

"Agreed. Where to, then?"

"Gastronome Number One," she said. Quickly reading the description, she added, "It looks like it's similar to the café we ate at in the KaDeWe in Berlin." He agreed and she led the group past the round fountain at the center of the building to the gourmet food store and café.

After an hour and a massive amount of food consumed, they found the Buy More and began to prepare for the tournament. Sarah tucked a stray strand of hair back into her ponytail as she gazed around the store. She was surprised at the large number of spectators already filing in. With the number of people inside the shopping mall, the quantity would probably grow as the noise from the tournament spilled out into the rest of the building and drew attention. It was looking like the size of the crowd could rival the one that had watched the contests in Amsterdam.

As the afternoon wore on, Sarah's prediction proved to be accurate. The crowd grew in size and noise level as they cheered on their Russian favorites. The competition was fierce and there were several close games. Still, the rested and focused Bartowski Family Gamers made it to the finals. Casey's pep talk before the final set of games implored them to "dig deep" and win their final tournament, which they did. The crowd was polite when the entire team went forward to accept their trophy, but it warmed quickly when Sarah—just like she had done in other cities before—charmed them by sincerely thanking them fluently in their language for coming to watch. When she finished her comments, during which she also introduced the members of the family and mentioned how much they were enjoying their time in Moscow, the final cheer from the crowd was almost as loud as it had been for the hometown favorites.

The kids were subdued as Sarah helped them collect their belongings as they prepared to leave. They had just finished their final tournament and while they still had one more day of sightseeing before leaving for home the day after next, their unforgettable trip was nearly over.

Sarah scanned the area to make sure everything had been picked up. She also kept her eyes peeled for Megan who, when she last saw her little spy, was ducking behind a display of Roombas.

Her gaze fell on her youngest niece off in a corner, not far from where she'd been playing a moment before. Sarah tensed when she saw Megan talking to a middle-aged woman with long brown hair who was kneeling down so the two could interact face-to-face. A man, who looked to be about the same age as the woman, stood a short distance from the two. From under shaggy, light brown hair, his eyes darted nervously around the store as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The woman's face was animated with delight as she said something to Megan, who nodded in response. Sarah probably had nothing to worry about—they were just a couple who were as enchanted by Megan as everyone else always was—but a spurt of adrenaline caused her heart rate to spike regardless.

Sarah strode toward them. When she reached Megan, she stood behind her and protectively rested her hands on her niece's shoulders. Her eyebrows pulled together when heard a tiny gasp of surprise from the woman. She saw her staring at the charm bracelet hanging from Sarah's wrist. She stared harder at the woman's face and watched genuine shock take over when she glanced at the engagement ring on Sarah's left hand. Shifting her gaze, Sarah saw panic on the man's face as he approached.

Her grip on Megan's shoulders tightened as the world suddenly tipped when recognition and comprehension walloped her. She knew those faces. She didn't know how it was possible, but she was positive as to who they were. It was Frost and Orion. Chuck's parents were still alive.


	40. The Power of Love

**A/N: **All I can say thank you. You're the best.

Thank you to **AgentInWaiting** for his hard work on this chapter. There's a lot here and he did a great job making sure it (hopefully) all makes sense.

Off we go.

**Chapter 40 – The Power of Love**

Sarah fought to maintain her composure as she stood before Chuck's parents inside the Moscow Buy More. His mother's obvious shock at unexpectedly seeing the charm bracelet had drawn Sarah's close attention. She quickly came to realize the woman speaking with Megan was actually the little girl's grandmother. To be sure, Sarah looked into their faces again. Yes, they were older than the pictures she had seen many times in the family's photo albums—the lines at the corners of their eyes were deeper and the added years showed on their faces—but it was unmistakable. Sarah was positive she stood in the presence of Stephen and Mary Bartowski.

Chuck's mother seemed to sense Sarah's recognition and stiffened. Sarah saw panic flash in her eyes. She stood suddenly and with head bowed, muttered quietly to her husband in Russian, "We need to go." Without another word, they turned and hurried toward the front of the store.

Sarah kept her eyes on the retreating forms as she turned Megan by the shoulders toward where the family was still picking up their things. "Go tell Uncle Chuck I had to go do something real quick and I'll be back in a few minutes. Tell him I'm fine and not to worry. And then you stay with Lizzie and tell her I need her to keep an eye on you. You got it?"

Megan chirped, "Got it!" and ran off to join her family while Sarah jogged through the aisles to catch up with Chuck's parents. She reached the front of the store and searched the crowded walkway left and right, her eyes scanning the area, when quick movement to her left caught her eye. Chuck's parents weren't quite running, but they were obviously moving through the mall at a much faster pace than the other Sunday afternoon shoppers who were casually strolling along. She dodged and weaved her way through the crowd until she had nearly caught up to them. His father glanced over his shoulder and upon seeing her, grabbed his wife's hand and started to run, pulling her along. Sarah ran after them and in a forceful voice called out in English, "Frost! Orion! Please! You left Chuck once. I can't let you leave him again."

Her words stopped them dead in their tracks. Both of their faces were filled with a combination of astonishment, suspicion and concern when they turned slowly toward her. The two stood in the center of the walkway as people streamed past them like water rushing around a boulder in the middle of a river. The woman angled herself between Sarah and the man Sarah was sure was Chuck's father.

"Don't call us that. We're Stephen and Mary," she said in a low, heated tone when Sarah reached them. Mary's eyes darted around the area, as if checking to make sure no one recognized their code names.

"Yes, of course. Let's get out of the way so we can talk," Sarah said. The three moved and stood in front of a large display window of a men's clothing store.

"We heard your introductions at the tournament, but who are you really?" Stephen asked. He hunched his shoulders, as if trying to hide his face from the world.

Sarah mouth went suddenly dry as she tried to untangle her thoughts. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. She would give them simple answers. "My name is Sarah Bartowski and I really am Chuck's wife."

Her answer didn't seem to sway them, both faces remaining closed and suspicious. "How do you know about the names you just used?" Mary demanded. "Who do you work for? How did you know we were here? Did they tell you to marry Chuck to somehow get to us?"

She knew they were only looking for answers, but the very idea that she'd married Chuck only to use him made her blood boil. Her eyes snapped when she answered, "No. I married Chuck because I fell in love with him. He's the most wonderful, loving, remarkable man I've ever known," she stopped herself from adding a spiteful, _not that you would know anything about him_. "I'm proud to be his wife."

"I believe her," Stephen said after a moment of tense silence. "She loves him."

"How can you tell?" Mary asked with an edge in her voice.

"I see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice when she talks about him. I saw it on her face at the Buy More, the way she looked at him." His gaze slid from Sarah's face to his wife's. "It's the same as the way you look at me."

Sarah wasn't sure if Mary was convinced, but after shooting what seemed to be a fond, exasperated glance at her husband, she saw the distrust on Mary's face lessen. And Stephen believing her was good enough for her at that point.

"And for your information," Sarah said, working to keep her voice even, "I work for the same _company_ you did before your names started showing up on a certain Frenchman's payroll." She saw them both wince. For a split second, a strange look flashed across their faces and a knowing look passed between them.

"I'm hoping your association with him was only through your job with the company. I'd hate to have to take my in-laws into custody."

The strain eased further when a tiny smile flickered on Stephen's face. "I don't think that will be necessary."

Sarah heaved a sigh of relief. "So you didn't go to the dark side?"

"No. We never did," Mary answered emphatically. For the first time since she spoke with Megan, a real smile reached her eyes. "Chuck found someone who loves _Star Wars_ as much as he did? Does?" Her voice had softened and Sarah heard in it a mother clinging to a distant memory of her son.

"I'm more like a recent convert," Sarah said. "And we didn't know you were here. We were given the impression you two were dead." She didn't miss the second significant glance that passed between Mary and Stephen. "Look, I'll go get Chuck and the kids and we can all go somewhere and talk all of this out."

Their faces closed off again. "We can't take the risk. You're the only one who knows the truth. Don't tell Charles you know about us and we'll stay dead." The words choked in Stephen's throat.

"No way," Sarah shot back. "I'm not going to lie to him and hide this from him and the kids. No way." The flustered looks returned to their faces. "I get the feeling there's a good reason you two are supposed to be 'dead,' but the son you left twenty years ago deserves to know the truth." She gave them each a hard stare. "All of it. If after we hear the whole story we decide it's best you stay 'dead,' then so be it. But at least Chuck will know why."

Much like the way she and Chuck often did, Mary and Stephen carried on a silent conversation with only body language and facial expressions. Sarah held her breath until Stephen replied with a quiet, "Alright."

While Sarah was relieved they had agreed, that brought up a whole new set of issues. "We're staying in apartments not far from here. Chuck, the kids and I will go there now and then you can come separately in a little while. I don't want you just walking up to him in the middle of GUM and completely freaking him out. I _am_ going to tell him what's going on as soon as we get there so he can freak out in private." She took out her phone and sent two quick texts. "Please don't be offended if I don't trust you to not disappear again. Two of my associates will stay here with you until I let them know we're ready for them to escort you to the apartments."

Mary nodded. "Fair enough."

While she waited for Agents Vegas and Barstow to find them, there was something Sarah needed to ask. "You knew Chuck and the kids were going to be here today, didn't you?"

"Yes, at least we hoped it was him," Stephen said. "We live here in Moscow and saw a flyer for the Bartowski Family Gamers a couple of days ago. With the possibility it was Chuck, we had to come."

"You also had to know the minute you stepped into the store he might have seen you."

"Yes, but we stayed hidden in the back. We…" Mary stopped and cleared her throat, as if she was giving herself time to keep a tight rein on her emotions. "We had to take the chance. We knew this might be the only time in our lives we would get to see our grandchildren in person." Sarah watched her struggle to keep her face neutral. "Ellie's kids."

"You knew about the kids before this?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what happened to Ellie?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Stephen answered again. The pain of their loss shouted through his one quiet word.

"How?"

Stephen shook his head. "It's complicated. We'll explain it all later."

Mary dropped her gaze. "It's my fault that you saw us and figured out who we were. Stephen wanted to leave as soon as the tournament was over, but I…" She swallowed hard.

Stephen rested his hand on his wife's back. "We hung back to watch the kids for as long as we could. We saw Megan playing while the rest of you were getting ready to go. She was ducking behind things like she was hiding or something."

"She likes to creep around and pretend she's a spy," Sarah said, smiling with affection. "She was that way before I ever came into the picture," she added quickly at the surprised looks on their faces.

"Before I could stop myself, I walked over to her and knelt down," Mary said with a shake of her head. "I couldn't help myself."

There was so much that needed to be talked about, so many questions to be answered, so many wounds to be healed. All that would have to wait a little longer since Vegas and Barstow approached them. Their faces were placid and unreadable, but Sarah knew them both well enough to see the questions in their eyes. "Mr. Bartowski received your text telling him you're okay, but he's still concerned about you, ma'am," Barstow said.

After what happened in Prague, that was probably putting it mildly. "I'm sure he is. I'll go to him in a minute. Agents Vegas and Barstow, meet Frost and Orion." Both men's heads snapped back. "You are to keep them with you until I call and tell you to bring them to Chuck's and my apartment. Go to one of the cafés and have a snack while you wait."

"Yes, ma'am," Vegas said.

She gave first Mary and then Stephen another hard stare. "Do I have your word you won't try to escape from my associates?"

They both held her gaze without wavering. "We won't do any such thing. We promise," Stephen said. "We owe it to Charles."

Narrowing her eyes, she said, "Fine. We'll see you in a while." With that, she turned and hurried back to the Buy More. The bulk of the crowd had dispersed, although there were still a number of people wandering the aisles and standing in line to purchase their items. Chuck strode toward Sarah the minute he caught sight of her. He gave her a hug and asked, "Is everything okay?"

She hugged him back. "It's fine." They turned and walked with their arms around each other toward where the kids waited. "It's just that something happened and I had to react quickly. I didn't have time to tell you about it."

"Okay. So tell me what's going on."

"I will. As soon as we get back to the apartment."

"Why not now?"

"It's not something I can discuss with you in public." When she looked up at his profile, she saw the muscles in his jaw working. "Trust me, Chuck."

He squeezed her shoulder and nodded. "I always do."

~ O ~

Sarah paced back and forth in front of Chuck who sat on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees. In some ways, telling him his parents were still alive seemed worse than when she'd had to tell him they were dead. Now she was about to rip off the scab on a wound that was finally beginning to heal.

She didn't want the kids to overhear any of what she had to tell Chuck, so she'd asked Casey and Morgan to watch them that evening in the other apartment. They'd both agreed, although the major's face twisted in revulsion while Morgan smirked with approval and gave her a high five. She didn't want to explain the real reason, so she didn't disabuse them of their assumption. Now with the kids happily wolfing down dinner and planning to watch a movie, she and Chuck could speak freely.

She felt Chuck's gaze on her as she walked the same patch of floor over and over. "Sarah? Sweetie? You're worrying me. Come on. You can tell me. What is it?"

Stopping, she stood in front of him, her stomach roiling with nerves. "I don't know how to start. Do I tell you a little at a time or do a data dump and tell you all at once?"

"Data dump. Tell me everything you need to say."

"Okay." She sat down next to him on the couch and took his hand in hers. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and looked directly into his eyes. "Your parents are alive and live here in Moscow. They were at the Buy More today to see you and the kids at the tournament. When they realized I knew who they were, they took off and I went after them. I caught up with them and we talked a little. That's where I was when I disappeared. Vegas and Barstow are with them over at GUM. They've agreed to come here and tell you everything." She hoped her torrent of words was coherent since her thoughts swirled in her mind like a whirlpool.

Chuck went perfectly still, other than his shallow breathing and an occasional blink. She sat with him, still holding his hand tightly in both of hers and watched him closely as he processed what she'd told him.

After a few minutes of silence, he said, "They're alive, they were at the Buy More and they didn't even try to come talk to me? They knew I was there but they didn't want me to know? Why? Why would they not want me to know they were there? To not see them?" The anguish and confusion in his voice sliced through her like a knife. "I'm their _son_."

"From talking to them, I'm pretty sure there's a really good reason for them not wanting you to see them." She reached up and ran her fingertips through the curls at his temple. "For what it's worth, they were at the Buy More today because they couldn't stay away, thinking you and the kids might be there. They risked their secret to see you." Her hand dropped to cover his again. "Let them come explain."

He stared down at their hands. "What if their reasons aren't good enough? 'Sorry, Chuck. You weren't high enough on our priority list.'"

It felt like a cold hand squeezed her heart. "I can't say that's not a possibility. We both know the sacrifices that sometimes have to be made for the job."

He frowned. "Are you excusing them for the last twenty years?"

"No. I'm not sure there's a good enough excuse in the world, but at least give them a chance. We've traveled all over Europe looking for them and now here they are." Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. "This is a one time deal, Chuck. If you don't talk to them now, you probably never will."

"They might disappear again after we talk to them."

She raised a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "They might. You may not like their reasons for their absence all these years, but at least you'll finally know why."

He dragged a hand over his face and then rubbed his eyes. "You're right." His hand dropped and he looked at her again. "I've spent most of my life wondering why. At least I'll know. Make the call."

Sarah nodded and after a quick chat with Barstow, stated, "They'll be here in about fifteen minutes."

Chuck was suddenly a bundle of nervous energy. He jumped up from the couch and started pacing over the same spot of floor she had walked only a little while before. "Oh god, Sarah. I'm going to see my parents. What do I say? How do I act? They don't even know me. What if they don't like me once they've actually met me? What if I'm this huge disappointment to them?"

"There's no way anyone could ever think of you as a disappointment. They love you. Trust me. I could tell after only talking to them for five minutes."

He stopped. With widened eyes, he asked, "You're not going to leave me with them by myself are you? You'll stay here with me? I need you with me."

She stood up and put her hands on his face. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

She spent the next ten minutes as they waited feeling absolutely helpless. There was nothing she could say or do to help him as he wandered nervously around the apartment.

He stopped in his tracks and the blood drained from his face when there was a tentative knock on the door. She gave him a confident nod, crossed the room and opened the door. Chuck's parents stood there with Vegas and Barstow on either side of them. The tension in her shoulders eased when she saw them there. A tiny part of her had worried they wouldn't come. That would have crushed Chuck's soul. There was still a long way to go, but this was a good start.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski. Thank you for coming," she said, stepping back and opening the door wider. "Please, come in."

"Please, call us Mary and Stephen," Mary said as she and her husband walked past her.

Sarah smiled and nodded her thanks to the two agents. "Go eat some pizza."

"Yes, ma'am," they responded in unison. They turned and headed down the hall as Sarah shut the door. Not sure what her role was at that point, she decided it was best to hang back. She leaned her back against the door and watched the scene before her unfold.

Stephen and Mary had stepped a little ways into the room and stopped. Chuck stood rooted in the same spot he had been when they heard the knock. His gaze was riveted to his mother's face. Sarah knew from his expression he was having a hard time believing she was really there.

"Hello, son," Mary said. Her voice was soft, as if she was afraid he might bolt if she spoke too loudly.

With a hitch in his voice, he said, "Hi, Mom." His eyes slid to his father's face. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Charles. It's good to see you again."

There was a long pause where no one seemed to know what to do. Finally, Mary smiled and said, "You're so tall."

"Yeah." A smile flickered on Chuck's face. "Mom." This time when he said the word, his face crumbled and his eyes turned red and glassy. He took a step toward her. That was the only invitation Mary needed and started toward him. They met in the middle of the room and enveloped each other in a tight embrace. After a moment, Stephen approached the two. Chuck looked up, released his mom and threw his arms open. "Dad." Smiling through her tears, Sarah watched father and son hug tightly.

After another hug with his mom, Chuck looked at both of them. "I still can't believe it. I thought…" he held his hand out toward Sarah for her to come and take, "we thought— We were told you were dead. That you'd been killed in an explosion."

Sarah slipped her hand in his and he gripped it like a lifeline. "Maybe we should have them start at the very beginning," she said. She indicated the couch and said, "Please."

Stephen sat down in one of the armchairs and Mary took a seat at the end of the couch nearest her husband. Chuck and Sarah sat at the other end. The tension in the room built up again.

"I found out less than a year ago you both worked for the CIA," Chuck said, still holding Sarah's hand and nervously rubbing his thumb over hers. "Is that why you left? A mission?"

"Yes," Mary answered. She cleared her throat and looked at Chuck. "I hope you don't mind a bit of a history lesson, but if you understand what was going on in the world at the time, hopefully the choices we made will make more sense to you."

"I'm sure Sarah already knows whatever history you're talking about," he answered, "but I could use the lesson."

Mary nodded, took a deep breath and began her story. "It was 1989 and the world, well, not to sound too dramatic, was changing. Popular protests against communist regimes were breaking out all over the Eastern Bloc of Europe. The CIA needed agents to go there and help support the protesters. It was especially critical for there to be as much support as we could give, even in secret, since no one was sure the governments wouldn't crush the demonstrations."

Stephen spoke up. "Tiananmen Square in China was a perfect example. The Chinese students rose up in hopes of gaining more freedom and calling for more governmental accountability. The free world watched and cheered for them."

"And then the tanks rolled in," Chuck said, his voice flat.

"Yes," Mary said. "Even though the calls for reform were crushed in China, they seemed to fan the flames that were already starting to burn in Eastern Europe. At the same time the crackdown on the protesters was occurring in Tiananmen Square, Poland held free elections and the people voted out the communists. It was a political earthquake."

"Following Poland's lead, Hungary also started to overthrow its government and began dismantling sections of the barbed wire fence that closed it off from Austria," Stephen said.

"The East Germans began to use those open segments of the fence to get to the West. They would get permission to travel to Hungary and then sneak through the hole in the fence to Austria. The hardline East German leadership eventually denied travel to Hungary, so the East Germans who wanted to escape started going into neighboring Czechoslovakia in the hopes of getting to the West by occupying the West German embassy in Prague and putting pressure on the East German government. I was sent to Prague right before the East Germans closed the border with Czechoslovakia." She stared down at her hands in her lap. "I didn't know how long I'd be gone, but given the way things were going, I knew it would be a while."

"You left your engagement ring with me," Chuck said, fingering the ring on Sarah's hand. "I found it on my nightstand. Why?"

She raised her gaze and met his eyes. "I couldn't wear it where I was going. I couldn't let anyone know I had any attachments."

Sarah swallowed hard when she felt his hand tighten.

"Like I said, I didn't know how long I'd be gone and it's a dangerous job. I wanted you to have something of mine, just in case." Her gaze slid from Chuck to Sarah and then back to him. "I see I made the right decision. I'm glad you kept it all these years and found someone to give it to. I have to admit I was shocked to see it today. And the charm bracelet, too."

He nodded. "We'll tell you our story when you finish yours."

Stephen chuckled and said, "That will be a while yet."

"I _do_ want to hear your story, so I'll keep going with ours." She shifted in her seat and continued with her tale. "By the end of October 1989, the protests in Leipzig, East Germany had grown to enormous numbers of people. There were literally hundreds of thousands of protestors demanding reforms. Soon after, the East German leadership reopened the border to Czechoslovakia. The Czechoslovak authorities then allowed East Germans to travel directly to West Germany."

"You were in Czechoslovakia when this was happening?" Chuck asked.

"Yes."

"Did you have anything to do with all that?"

She shrugged. "I helped. Yes."

Chuck's head snapped up. "Um. Wow."

A smile quirked on Mary's face and then quickly faded. "Once the East Germans could freely travel to West Germany, everything changed. The East German authorities soon allowed their citizens to go directly to both West Germany and West Berlin through existing border checkpoints. Before they knew what was happening, the people themselves started to open up big chunks in the Berlin Wall in order to cross over. It was unreal." She gazed into Chuck's face. "I know it's probably hard for you to understand why I would leave my family to go to Eastern Europe during such a chaotic and revolutionary time, but the people there had lived under oppressive regimes for decades. The things they would do to try to get to freedom, to get to the West—"

He sat up straighter. "No, Mom. It's okay. I think we understand better than you might think. We were in Berlin, what, a week and a half ago?" he asked, turning to Sarah who nodded. "We stepped over the bricks in the street where the wall stood and walked through the Brandenburg Gate. We visited Checkpoint Charlie and went to the wall museum there. We read stories about the crazy things people did to get to the West and saw some of the contraptions they used." After a pause he continued, "Let's just say I can better understand the choices you had to make."

Sarah rubbed her free hand up and down Chuck's arm, proud of how well he was taking everything so far. She had a question, though. "We saw a ledger of Henri Benoit's where the name Frost appeared in 1990," Sarah said. "If you were in Czechoslovakia, how did you get involved with him?"

"Henri Benoit," Mary sighed and shook her head. "During the 1980's, the Russian economy was in the tank. Russian businessmen smuggled goods into the Soviet Union and sold them on the black market. Henri Benoit was one of their suppliers–jeans, computers, electronics, you name it. Reforms were happening in Russia at the same time as the other Eastern Bloc countries, but the communists were still in control. To keep pressure on the Soviet leadership, we needed to keep a strong western influence in Russia. A steady stream of goods from the West helped do that. I was sent in undercover and became part of Benoit's organization in Russia. By helping Benoit smuggle items in, we were not only helping to keep the Russian people's eyes toward the West, but I was also able to keep tabs on what was happening politically and report back to my superiors at the Agency. By the end of 1991, the Soviet Union was dissolved."

"They still needed you to stay?" Chuck asked.

"Yes," Mary answered with a nod. "After the breakup of the USSR, things were far from stable in Russia. The economy was still in a shambles and there was a fight at the top over the economic reform policies and who in the government had the power to do what. The Russian president and parliament were at loggerheads and by October of 1993 there was a constitutional crisis that ended in bloodshed."

Chuck sighed and shook his head in disbelief. "And you were there during all of this?"

"I was."

He then looked to Stephen. "Dad, your name showed up in the ledger in 1992. How'd that happen?"

Before Stephen had a chance to answer, Sarah said, "I could use something to drink and I'm sure your parents would like something, too. Chuck, can you help me in the kitchen?"

"Sure." They both stood from the couch and went to the small kitchen. Out of his parents' line of sight, Sarah stepped close and whispered, "How are you? Are you doing okay?"

He blew out a breath and nodded. "It's all so surreal. I mean, I know they're my parents, but it feels like they're just these two strangers telling the story of their lives. But it's the story of _my_ family." He shook his head. "It's just really weird."

"I know. I'm sorry," she said. She stepped away from him and opened the refrigerator. Chuck took four glasses from the cupboard and set them on the counter. While Sarah filled the glasses with bottled water, Chuck found a plate and dumped the rest of a box of crackers out onto it. Sarah was surprised to find out anything was left over from the welcome basket that had awaited them when they'd arrived the day before.

She picked up two of the water glasses and headed back out into the living room with Chuck trailing behind with the plate and other glass. After setting them down on the coffee table and her making another trip to grab the remaining glass of water, they settled in to hear more of the story.

"Okay, Dad. Go on. You were going to tell us how you ended up on Benoit's ledger."

"Right. Like your mother said, after the fall of communism, there was economic turmoil as industries that had been state owned and run were becoming privatized. The powerful Russian businessmen—some of who had been smuggling things into Russia for years—were now suddenly the ones in line to become the owners of these industries. Benoit wanted in on this, if not directly, at least getting a cut from the men he'd been supplying and working with all those years."

Mary shook her head. "It was chaotic. These businessmen came to be called the 'oligarchs.' They became incredibly wealthy. Everyone wanted in on the act, too. The central government control that had been in place was suddenly gone and people took advantage. The army couldn't keep track of what their soldiers were doing and there was a sudden flood of Russian weapons available to buy and sell. Benoit saw his chance and flipped his smuggling operation. He wasn't smuggling innocuous things like jeans and computers in anymore. He was smuggling weapons out of Russian and selling them on the black market to the rest of the world. Now I was suddenly working for an arms dealer."

Chuck's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "I still don't see how you fit into this, Dad. I know you're an agent, too, but—"

"I'm not really an agent like your mother is. She's the kickass one. I'm really a scientist. You know the gadgets they have in the James Bond movies? I was one of the guys who developed things like that. I became a weapons expert, too. The missions I went on with your mother were usually only to deliver a weapon or when they needed my expertise. She saved my ass more times than I can count."

Sarah smiled while Chuck laughed and shook his head. "That sounds very familiar." His comment earned him puzzled looks from his parents, but they didn't say anything.

Stephen stood from his chair and started to pace around the room. "Benoit wanted a weapons expert for his operation in Russia, someone who knew their value, capabilities, potential for customization, things like that. Your mother saw the perfect opportunity for me to come in with an eye to helping her shut Benoit's gun smuggling operation down. I was brought in as the weapons guy. I guess I showed up on the ledger soon after that."

"Did Benoit know you two were married?" Sarah asked.

"Not at the time, no," Mary answered. "I told Benoit Stephen and I had worked together before and had a 'past.' It wasn't hard for us to 'pick up where we left off.' At least we didn't have to hide our relationship. That made it a lot easier."

Stephen stopped his pacing and looked at Chuck. Sarah saw the anguish in the older man's eyes. "When I left you and your sister, Charles, it was with the intention of going to stop Benoit and bringing your mother home. We thought we would both be home in six months, a year, tops."

Chuck picked up a cracker from the plate, stared down at it but didn't eat it. "Mom, when you were gone and Dad was still home, did you know what... I mean, did Ellie and I ever—"

"Yes," she answered. "I knew what you and Ellie were doing. And how you were doing. I thought about you all the time. Your father sent me pictures of you and wrote me notes telling me how you both were doing in school and in life." A small smile twitched. "I had to hide them in the false bottom of a dresser drawer. Every night before I went to bed, I would look through those pictures." Sighing, she shook her head. "It wasn't like it is now, with the Internet and cell phones. The only way to get them was to meet with an Agency courier every so often. I wished I could have contacted you directly, but it was just too dangerous for all of us."

"What about after Dad left? I didn't know anything. Did Ellie?"

"She knew I was going to try to bring your mother home. She didn't know we were spies and worked for the Agency. It wasn't like she didn't try to find out. Your sister was a very inquisitive person and kept after me to tell her until the day I left. I didn't dare tell her anything. It was safer to keep both of you in the dark in case anyone ever asked. That way you wouldn't have to lie. I'm sure she had her suspicions, though."

"Did you communicate with her?"

Stephen started pacing again. "Yes, but not very often because we had to be so stealthy about it. She would put a coded message in the personal ads of the newspaper and the CIA would see it. They would decode it and courier the message to us. Then we'd send a message back and the Agency would place an ad in response. Sometimes it would take over a month for one message to be sent and then receive a response."

"Why didn't Ellie tell me she was in contact with you?"

"You were still so young. What if you let it slip that you were in secret communication with your parents? It was easier for you to not know anything," Stephen said.

"Did you know Ellie went to UCLA? And when she and Devon got married?"

"And when you started high school and were on the A/V squad? Yes," Mary said. "We knew all of those things."

Sarah felt Chuck suddenly tense. "If you knew all these important things were happening in our lives that you were missing out on, like your own daughter getting married, how come you didn't just say, 'Screw it. I'm going home to my family.'" The hurt in his voice nearly crushed her.

"It wasn't that simple," Mary said. There was no defiance in her voice, only sadness.

"Why? What would have been so hard to just get on a plane and leave?" Chuck's voice rose as his pain and anger bubbled to the surface.

"Because Benoit found out your father and I worked for the CIA. Because he found out about you and your sister. He found out where you lived," Mary said in a loud voice, her eyes flashing. "If we'd tried to escape, he would have had both of you killed before we got out of Russia."

Sarah squeezed Chuck's leg as he listed to one side. "What?" he croaked.

Mary's shoulders sagged and she looked as if she'd aged ten years in the blink of an eye. "He was making tons of money between running guns out of Russia and smuggling heroin in from Afghanistan. He didn't want to kill us and lose his 'faithful' and well-connected employees. We knew which officials to bribe, which oligarchs to work with."

"Why didn't the Agency take Ellie and Chuck into protective custody? Once they were safe, you could have escaped," Sarah said.

"Because the Agency never knew there was a problem," Stephen answered, sitting down again. "Once Benoit found out, we had someone watching us constantly. One false move from either one of us and Benoit would make a phone call. We had to keep up with the Agency like nothing had changed. It wasn't long before our contact with it grew less and less frequent, especially as Russia began to stabilize."

Chuck slumped back against the couch. "What about all the people that might have been hurt by the guns you helped him sell for me to live? You should have escaped and let us take our chances."

"No!" Stephen said, his voice vehement. "That wouldn't have made any difference. Benoit would have just found someone else to work for him. Our decision was the right one. Besides, what were we supposed to do? We'd just found out Eleanor had had Lizzie. There was no way we were going to let him hurt our daughter, her husband, their baby or you. You may not agree with our decision, but because of it, there are seven wonderful children in this world."

"But…" Chuck said. He leaned his head against the back of the sofa and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Chuck," Sarah said gently. "Your dad is right. They had no choice."

Chuck heaved a sigh and looked at his mom again. "Did you fake your deaths to get away from Benoit?"

"Yes, but only after he showed us a newspaper story about Ellie and Devon's deaths." Sarah wasn't sure she'd ever heard anyone sound as weary as Mary did just then. "He told us he was responsible for it."

Chuck turned white as a sheet. "No," he whispered. "It was a drunk driver."

"Yes, one that wasn't even injured. We know. Maybe Benoit was lying and took the opportunity to make sure we stayed in line. But what if it was true? We couldn't take the chance," Stephen said. "We'd kept our end of the bargain and had ended all contact with Eleanor right after Lizzie was born. We didn't know about our other six grandchildren until we saw that newspaper article. 'They are survived by their seven children,'" he said, agony filling his voice as he dropped his head into his hands.

The room fell quiet, each of the occupants battling to keep their emotions in check. After a moment, Mary took a sip of water and slowly set her glass back down on the table. "We'd considered faking our deaths before, knowing that once we were 'dead,' the threat to you and your sister would end. But we had always hoped that Benoit would be taken down somehow and that we would be free to return home. Our being dead meant that we could never have contact with you again, at least until Benoit was taken out of the picture. Unfortunately, that's never happened. Once Ellie was gone, we knew we had no choice. If we were dead, there'd be no reason for Benoit to pay any more attention to you."

"The explosion on the boat?" Chuck asked.

Stephen nodded.

"Wait a minute," Sarah said, her brow furrowing. Something was off. "I had an encounter recently with a man who told me you were dead and said he put you on that boat himself. He was one of Benoit's men. He told me Benoit had you killed because he had no more use for you. How did you pull it off, then?"

Stephen and Mary looked at each other and then at Sarah. "He helped us," Stephen said. "We never got on the boat."

"But he still works for Benoit," she said slowly, thinking things through. The pieces started to fall into place. "Or maybe he wanted us to think that," she mused. "Let me guess. The man who helped you is a blond Russian."

"Yes," Stephen answered.

Sarah was surprised they couldn't hear the _click_ in her brain. "And he helped you again, just the other day. _You_ were the ones who had Casey and me kidnapped in Prague."

Chuck's head snapped around. "What? _You_ had my wife tranqed, kidnapped and tied to a chair? How could you? Do you know the hell and kids and I went through?"

"Now, settle down, son," Stephen said, holding up his hand. "We didn't know she was your wife until we saw her today. And from where we were at the back of the crowd with her hair pulled back, we didn't make the connection that Sarah Walker and Sarah Bartowski was the same person until we talked to her at GUM."

"It makes sense," Sarah said. "If they were supposedly dead and I'm suddenly asking around about them, it puts them back on the radar, perhaps Benoit's radar. They had to stop me."

"That's right, Sarah," Stephen continued. "When we heard someone was asking around about Frost and Orion, we had no idea who they were or who they worked for. If Benoit found out we were still alive, he could have tracked down you and the kids, Charles. We thought maybe Benoit had heard something and was sniffing around. We had to put a stop to it. Our friend, Dmitri, who helped us fake our deaths and helped us hide, fed information to the snitch here in Moscow asking around about Frost and Orion."

"Dmitri gave the man his phone number," Mary said. "He must have passed it along to someone else—"

"Zephyr," Chuck and Sarah said together.

Mary shrugged a shoulder and then took another sip of water. "We never knew exactly how many hands Dmitri's number went through before it ended up with you, Sarah. But it did and you called Dmitri and agreed to meet in him in Prague. It was the perfect place, actually. I knew several people from my days in Prague who had been displaced monks. They eventually ended up at the Strahov Monastery when it reopened and I called them for a favor. Although they were a bit squeamish at the idea of kidnapped people being held in the basement of the library, when we explained the situation and promised them no one would be hurt, they agreed."

"So Casey and I go to Caffrey's, get tranqed and taken to the basement of the Strahov Library," Sarah said, musing aloud. "At that point, you had no idea who I worked for. And you never suspected I had any connection to Chuck at all."

"None at all."

"The photo Dmitri took of me as proof of who I said I was. He sent it to you, not Benoit."

"That's right," Stephen said. "We had an old database of Benoit's on a laptop. You said your name was Sarah Walker and the picture confirmed it. And there was no connection between you and Charles there. It was a huge relief to know you were CIA and not working for Benoit. We still didn't want you asking about us anymore, so we had Dmitri tell you we were dead."

"Does he still work for Benoit?" Chuck asked.

"Yes," Mary answered. "He's worked for Benoit since he was a young man, first helping him smuggle jeans into Russia."

Chuck frowned. "Wouldn't he have known immediately Sarah wasn't part of Benoit's organization?"

"Not necessarily," Sarah answered. "Benoit has people working for him all over the world. There's no way Dmitri would know everyone."

Chuck took several swallows of water and then replaced his glass on the table. "If he works for Benoit, why did he agree to help you fake your deaths?"

"He hated the fact that Benoit threatened to kill our children if we didn't do as he said. Like me, he was part of Benoit's organization when he was smuggling non-lethal items. Then he started selling arms and drugs and Dmitri hated it, but was in too deep and couldn't get out. He was actually someone who was helping us try to shut Benoit down."

"So he helped fake your death and then covered for it with Benoit," Sarah said.

Stephen nodded. "To sell our 'deaths,' he told Benoit he saw an operative from a rival black market gang at the marina that day. He led Benoit to believe they eliminated us to blow a hole, as it were, in his organization."

Mary nodded and turned her attention from Stephen to Chuck. "Dmitri is another reason we had to stay hidden after our 'deaths.' If Benoit learned that we were still alive, it would expose Dmitri's part in it. His family would be dead in hours." Looking to Sarah, she said, "He was as relieved you didn't work for Benoit as we were. After he convinced you we were dead, he tranqed you again and left."

"Wait a minute. You were just going to leave them down there in the basement?" Chuck asked, his voice edged with incredulity.

"Of course not," Mary said, as if it should have been obvious. "We left instructions with one of my cleric friends to call the police and anonymously inform them where the two were being held several hours after Dmitri and his two friends left. We heard, though, that there had been a rather daring rescue that took place just after the phone call was made."

Chuck turned to face Sarah. "Them just leaving explains why there weren't any guards when we found you."

"_You_ were one of the men who rescued them?" Mary asked Chuck. She was clearly shocked.

"My wife had been kidnapped. Of course I was going to rescue her," Chuck said. Sarah noticed the color rise in his face.

"How do you even _know_ a CIA agent in the first place, Chuck?" Mary asked.

Sarah bristled at the accusatory tone in the other woman's voice and felt the muscles in Chuck's arm twitch.

Stephen, obviously reading the aggravated reactions to Mary's blunt question, intervened. "I think what your mother is asking is how you two met. We tried to keep up with what you were doing after we went into hiding, but we don't really know much about you, Charles, other than you and the kids moved to Colorado. Information about you has been hard to come by."

His eyes questioning, Chuck turned and looked at Sarah. With a small smile, she nodded encouragingly at him. "You can tell them as much as you want."

He laced his fingers with hers and rested their clasped hands on his lap. "I write encryption software for the CIA. About a year ago, I was working on an important project. There was a rogue organization of baddies who wanted to either turn me to work for them or steal my software outright. To do that, they inserted a mole into my life in Colorado. The kids and I needed protection, so the Agency sent Sarah. She came to Beaver Creek undercover as the kids' nanny. We fell in love and got married. Our first wedding anniversary will be in October."

"I'm surprised you're traveling now with that threat hanging over you," Mary said.

"Sarah, ah," he looked at her for inspiration to find the right word, "neutralized the threat soon after we were married."

Mary nodded tightly. "Was tracking us down your primary mission here in Europe? A mission in which you brought the kids along?"

Sarah's jaw clenched when she heard the hint of disapproval in Mary's voice. Chuck apparently heard it, too, since she felt him flinch. "Henri Benoit is in hiding," Sarah said, working to keep her tone even. "My primary mission is to find out where so he can be apprehended. The ledger the Agency has in its possession is enough to prosecute him for a multitude of crimes. My secondary task was to ask around about Frost and Orion so my husband could find out what happened to his parents." She bit back the rest of the comment she wanted to make.

"The Buy More tournaments were the perfect way for us to go on a fun, family vacation while at the same time Sarah could do some snooping around. She would never have agreed to do it if she thought it would put the kids in danger. Protecting them and me was what brought her into our lives in the first place, and that part of her mission has never changed. God help anyone who might threaten the people she loves because she'll take them out." Chuck's voice was passionate and his gaze unwavering. "Trust me. I've seen it first hand. She loves our kids as much as I do and if it's possible, I think they love her even more than I do. The kids and I, we trust her. Completely."

Sarah squeezed his hand, letting him know how much she appreciated him speaking up for her.

Mary spread out her fingers and rubbed her hands up and down on her thighs. Shaking her head, she said, "You're right. I'm sorry. It's just after doing everything we could to keep our family safe, it's kind of a shock to find out our son works for the CIA and married an agent."

"I understand your concerns, Mary. I worry about the kids, too. About all kinds of things. But you can be sure that I'll do everything in my power to keep them safe. As a matter of fact, right now, they're hanging out with two CIA agents who were assigned to this mission primarily as their protection detail and an NSA agent who makes John McClane look like a wuss."

Chuck turned to face her and flashed her a megawatt smile. He seemed to forget all the tension and stress of the past half hour. "Excellent usage of _Die Hard_, Mrs. Bartowski." He kissed her cheek. "I knew making you watch that movie would pay off someday. And bonus points for 'wuss.' Fred would be proud."

Sarah smiled and dipped her head, accepting his praise. "Thank you." At their playfulness, Mary and Stephen both chuckled and visibly relaxed. Her charming husband had managed to defuse a tense situation and put everyone at ease. Not caring what his parents thought, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. When a single eyebrow waggled rather naughtily at her in response, she shot him a sly look. After a final wink that only she could see, he turned back to his parents. "We've been doing a lot of talking about the kids in the last few minutes. I think it's about time you met them, don't you?"

The eager nods of Mary and Stephen made it was clear it was what they wanted. "What do they know? What can we tell them? Do they know you both…" Mary trailed off.

"Work for the CIA?" Chuck finished. "Yes. Although I _thought_ I had kept that a secret from them. I was quickly stripped of that illusion when Sarah came to us. So they know I do computer work for the CIA and that Sarah's a kickass agent. They know you're both agents too—they were there when Sarah figured it out from the Frost and Orion charms on the bracelet. As to what to tell them, it's probably best to tell them everything, within reason. They'll probably figure it out anyway. They're… how do they put it?"

"They see stuff. They hear things. They're young, but they're not stupid," Sarah said, with a wide smile on her face. "How do you want to handle it? Do you think maybe we should warn them first?"

"I absolutely think they need to be warned." He grabbed a cracker and popped it in his mouth.

"Why don't you stay here and visit with your parents? I can go tell them about their grandparents and then bring them over here. Is that okay with you?"

His smile and nod was a huge relief. She didn't want to be left alone with his parents if he went to get the kids. Leaving them by themselves would be rude and if she was honest with herself, she still didn't completely trust them not to bolt. And putting a guard outside the door just seemed wrong. She kissed his cheek and stood. "I'll be back in a little while." With the stress of last half hour easing, her appetite began to return. "I'll see if I can snag some leftover pizza and bring it over here."

Chuck snorted. "Leftover pizza? Do you hear yourself?" he teased. "It's like you don't know our children at all."

She scrunched her nose and pulled a face at him. "Fine. If there's none left over, I'll call and have a couple delivered here. The people over at Bocconcino love us."

Stephen's head snapped up. "We love that place. The tiramisu is fantastic."

Sarah pressed her lips together and dared not to look at her husband. She knew if she did she would find an amused and suggestive look that would make her cheeks flame hot. "Maybe I'll order a couple of pieces," she murmured, causing Chuck to choke and sputter. He guzzled the rest of his water as she blew him a kiss and swept out the door. She wasn't going to tone down her flirty interactions with Chuck in front of his parents. She wanted them to see the absolute love she had for Chuck since she had the feeling they, or at least his mom, might still harbor suspicions about her and her motives. Hopefully, Mary's concerns about her would be alleviated once she saw how much she loved Chuck and the kids.

She walked down the hall and when she reached the door and was about to knock, heard the sound of muffled music coming from inside the apartment. She assumed it was from the movie about the Viking kid and his dragon they had planned to watch, but when she listened more closely, it didn't sound right. She raised her hand again to knock, but she held it in the air, unmoving, when she recognized the song. It was an earworm, nonsensical pop song sung by three teenage brothers. She fought the bad taste that took over her mouth when the tune conjured up the memory of her as a painfully awkward and shy high school kid, complete with bad hair and braces.

She gave in to the full body shudder that racked her. Once the shivers subsided, she stuffed the memory back in its hole and rapped her knuckles firmly on the door.

After a few seconds, the door swung open to reveal a surprised Agent Barstow. "Agent Walker. We weren't expecting you."

Her eyebrows shot up when her gaze settled on the black and gray striped necktie he sported around his head like a ninja. Confusion flashed across his face before his eyes rolled up as if he were attempting to look at his own forehead. His face flushed crimson as he reached up, jerked off the tie and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans.

_Clearly_, she thought, unsuccessfully hiding her smirk. Tipping her head, she peered past him, trying to get a better look into the apartment. "What're you guys doing over here?" With the door open, the song was now much louder. The lead singer—his voice still unchanged by puberty—sang his heart out.

Before Barstow could answer, Megan zoomed around his legs and launched herself up at Sarah. Catching the little girl under her armpits, Sarah lifted her up and settled her on her hip. "Aunt Sarah! We're having a dance party!"

Barstow backed up and out of the way to let Sarah and Megan gain entrance. She took one step past him when the song reached its catchy chorus. The room exploded when the kids sang at the top of their lungs, "Mmm bop, ba duba dop. Ba du bop, ba duba dop. Ba du bop, ba duba dop. Ba du."

The coffee table had been moved out of the center of the room and in its place, the rest of the girls and Morgan danced, waving their arms over their heads. When Megan squirmed, Sarah set her down on her feet and watched her hop over to join her sisters dancing up a storm. She scanned the rest of the room and saw Fred drumming on the back cushions of the couch with his hands to the music while his brother accompanied him on air guitar. Vegas' foot tapped along as he sat in an armchair and watched. Casey sat at the dining room table with his laptop open, unlit cigar clamped between his teeth and his head bobbing ever so slightly to the beat. Had she not seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it.

"Aunt Sarah! Come dance with us!" Bridget shouted.

She wasn't in the mood for dancing, so she begged off with a smile and a shake her head. Even so, she enjoyed watching them dance and sing with reckless abandon. By the end of the song, she found herself tapping her hand on her thigh to the music despite herself.

Casey turned the volume down when the song ended and the next one—a tune from another boy band of the nineties—began to play.

"What's the occasion?" Sarah asked the girls who were panting from exertion. "You all seemed kind of glum at the Buy More after the tournament was over."

"We decided to celebrate the fact that our trip happened rather than be sad that it's almost over. It was time for a party," Lizzie answered.

Martie grabbed Sarah's hand with both of hers and hopped in place. "Uncle Casey's been playing music for us."

"Really?" she said with surprise, glancing over at her partner. "Casey, I would never have expected you to have nineties pop music on your computer."

"I was undercover as a DJ for a ten year high school reunion a while back. Cougars, class of 1998. I forgot I still had all that music loaded on it until these guys said they wanted to have a party."

"Hanson, Casey?" She asked with a laugh. "Really?"

"You bet," he said proudly around the stogie in his mouth.

Curtis had flopped back on the couch. "How do you know that song?"

"Hey! I went to high school," she said, pretending to be deeply affronted. When the kids chuckled, she added, "I know a few songs. Besides, that one was _everywhere_."

"The one kid's voice cracks like Fred's did when his voice changed," Lisa said with a laugh. Fred threw a pillow at his sister's head in response.

With a smirk, Sarah said, "That song was okay, but I preferred my music a little edgier, like _Tubthumping_ by Chumbawamba.

The three oldest kids clearly knew the song and stared at her with mouths hanging open in shock, as if she'd been snatched by aliens and replaced by a pod person. The younger four looked confused, not understanding her reference. Eyes wide with expectation, Martie asked, "Can we listen to it?"

"No!" the people in the know said all at once. Sarah cringed inside and wished she hadn't brought it up.

Lizzie jumped in to change the subject, much to Sarah's relief. "Why are you over here, Aunt Sarah? I thought you and Uncle Chuck were having a _date_." The teen opened her eyes wider, informing Sarah she wasn't fooled at all by the terminology.

"I'm here for a couple of reasons. First off, is there any leftover pizza?" Seeing the "you're kidding, right?" look on Lizzie's face, she snorted and said, "Just thought I'd ask." She took out her phone and ordered more pizza. Once the food order was placed, she asked Casey to turn the music off. Sensing something was up, everyone in the room, including the adults, glanced at each other and then at Sarah.

"You sure ordered a lot of food for just you and Chuck," Morgan said.

After asking everyone to sit, Sarah found a space on the couch and sat. Suddenly nervous, she took a deep breath and huffed it out. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands together. Gazing into the expectant faces, her heart thudded against her sternum. The "data dump" technique might have worked for Chuck, but she decided to ease into telling the kids about their grandparents. "I ordered extra food because it's not just Uncle Chuck and me that will be eating. We have guests." The confusion on their faces intensified as they glanced at each other again.

"Who do we know in Moscow?" Fred asked.

Sarah's gaze fell on her youngest. "Actually, Megan met them today after the tournament."

From her place on the floor, Megan sat up straighter. Her eyes sparkling with the excitement of being a part of the mystery, she said, "You mean the lady with long, pretty hair? The one that left fast and you chased after?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Yeah," Lisa said. "We know you disappeared for a little while. What happened?"

Her throat went dry and scratchy. "I recognized them," Sarah answered quietly. Her hands still clasped tightly, she nervously rubbed one thumb over the other. "They're your grandparents."

Each face registered utter shock and confusion. Curtis' eyebrows pulled together and he shook his head. "That's not right. It can't be them. You told us they were dead."

"I know," Sarah replied. "I was told they were. But I promise you, it's them. They're very much alive and want to meet you."

Heads snapped around as the kids gauged each other's reactions. Martie and Megan seemed excited by the idea while Curtis and Bridget looked at each other, shrugged and nodded. The three oldest kids' faces were clouded with skepticism.

"I know it's a shock, but it's true. Uncle Chuck is next door with them right now." She didn't want to give them too much detail at this point, but they did need some context. "You know they worked for the CIA." Heads nodded. "When they left your mom and uncle, it was for a really important mission. Different things happened over the years and eventually it became necessary for them to fake their deaths."

"Why?" Lisa said. Her voice was laden with hurt and betrayal. "Why would they do that?"

"It's a long, complicated story we can tell to whoever wants to hear it later, but basically they did it to keep you all and Uncle Chuck safe."

Sarah felt like Lizzie's squinting stare was burning a hole through her. "They know about us?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe them?" Fred asked. The grim intensity on his face made her breath catch in her throat. The cheerful, laid-back kid who never seemed to take life too seriously had been replaced by a protective, circumspect young man. "About why they left Mom and Uncle Chuck and never came back?"

Sarah held her nephew's probing gaze. "Yes."

"What about Uncle Chuck?" Lisa asked warily. "Is he okay with it?"

"That's a great question. Honestly, I think he's still in shock. I'm sure you know how he feels." She saw understanding flash on their faces. "And yes, some of the things have been hard for him to hear. But I think overall, he's okay with it."

"Why now?" Lizzie asked in a challenging tone. "Why did they suddenly show up now?"

"They've been in hiding here in Moscow for years. They found out the Bartowski Family Gamers would be at the Buy More today and assumed it was you." She paused and one-by-one, made eye contact with each of them. "They risked everything to just catch a few glimpses of you from where they hid at the back of the crowd." Her gaze came to rest on Megan. "But when they saw Megan off by herself playing spy…" Sarah paused and shrugged. "As your grandmother told Uncle Chuck and me a little while ago, she couldn't help herself. I saw a woman talking to Megan and went to make sure she was okay. That's when I figured out who they were."

Sarah's nerves felt like a rubber band stretched nearly to its breaking point. She held her breath and watched the kids as they silently communicated. What if the three older ones refused to meet their grandparents? Should she take the other four kids next door and hope the three change their minds and join them later? She knew she needed to talk to Chuck first if it came to that.

Fortunately, it didn't. Lizzie stood from where she sat at the end of the couch and looked directly at Sarah. The strength and fortitude in the teen's features reminded Sarah of a photo of Ellie she'd seen many times before. The intelligence and determination that she'd perceived in the mother's eyes now burned in the daughter's. Lizzie's voice remained cautious, however, when she said, "Let's go meet our grandparents."


	41. Come Together

**A/N:** I'd like to welcome those readers who have recently come aboard. Hello! I'm glad you found this story. And, as always, I send my greetings to those of you who have been with me from the start or picked the story up along the way. Thanks for staying with me.

I would especially like to thank those of you who took the time to leave a review for the previous chapter. Your kind words of support meant so much to me since I must admit, I was nervous when I posted it. Trying to explain the twenty year absence of Chuck's parents in a remotely believable way posed a significant challenge. My solution was to use actual historical events as the impetus for Mary leaving in the first place. Hopefully I conveyed what a chaotic, history-changing time it was and how Mary could have placed the needs of her mission over the needs of her family.

Thank you, **AgentInWaiting**, as ever, for your wonderful beta work. These chapters are big and take a lot of work for you to get through. I appreciate your dedication to this project.

**Chapter 41 – Come Together**

It only took a few minutes for the kids to get ready to go meet their grandparents. Once shoes were put on and combs and brushes run through hair, they and Sarah walked the short distance down the hall and clustered in front of the closed apartment door.

Seeing the nervous looks on their faces, Sarah ignored her own bubbling anxiety and gave them a confident smile. "If it feels kind of weird and awkward when you meet them, that's okay. No one expects you to act like you've known them your whole lives."

"What if they don't like us," Bridget asked quietly. She'd apparently put to voice a concern all six of her siblings had, since everyone looked at Sarah and nodded their heads vigorously in agreement.

Sarah smiled and cupped Bridget's chin. "They already love you. Just be yourselves and they'll find out what great kids you are." Smiles and sighs of relief rippled through the group. "Uncle Chuck and I will be there the whole time." The smiles grew wider. "Are you ready?"

Seven heads snapped confident nods. Sarah returned the nods, spun and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, Chuck opened it. A brilliant grin exploded on his face upon seeing his wife and seven kids standing there, awaiting entry into the apartment. "Here's my beautiful family!"

The older kids snorted in response and rolled their eyes. His smile turned cheeky as he swung the door open wider, stepping backward and out of the way. Sarah let the kids file in first and brought up the rear. As they silently entered the room, each stole glances at Mary and Stephen, who looked more nervous than the kids did. Sarah had the feeling the same thoughts of "what if they don't like us" had invaded Mary's and Stephen's minds as well.

After Chuck shut the door, Sarah rested her hand on his arm and raised her eyebrows at him with a silent question. He gave her a tiny smile, put his arm around her shoulder, pulled her close and kissed her hair. With the kids having taken over the sofa, chairs and floor, Chuck and Sarah positioned themselves to the side where everyone could see them. The scene reminded Sarah of the first time she met the kids at the house in Beaver Creek a year ago. The emotions on the kids' faces ranged from guarded to expectant. All were filled with curiosity as they studied their grandparents.

Apparently, Chuck was reminded of that day, too. "Hey, guys. I'd like to introduce you to your grandparents, Stephen and Mary Bartowski."

"Hey!" Megan piped up. "They have the same last name as you and Aunt Sarah, Uncle Chuck!" She sat on the floor with her feet under her and bounced excitedly on her knees. "You're not the only Bartowskis anymore." Clearly, this had been something she'd thought about and had concerned her. "There are seven of us Woodcombs and only two Bartowskis. I'm glad there are more now."

Smiles broke out on all the faces in the room. "I'm pretty happy about that, too, squirt," Chuck said, grinning down at her. "Although I have the feeling they already know who's who, I think it would be a good idea if you all introduced yourselves to…" Raising his eyebrows in question, he looked at his parents and asked, "Grandma and Grandpa? We've always called you that at home. Is that okay with you?"

Stephen and Mary glanced at each other. Nodding, Stephen said, "Works for us."

Martie raised her hand like she was in school. "Our other grandparents have us call them 'Grandpa Woody' and 'Honey.'" Dropping her hand back in her lap, she wrinkled her nose and added, "She doesn't want to be called 'Grandma.' She says it makes her sound old."

"I'm glad to know that, Martie," Mary said with a warm smile. Martie's eyes grew round and she wiggled with excitement when Mary used her name. "I'm happy for you to call me 'Grandma.'"

That seemed to strike the right chord with the kids. Their smiles were now more relaxed and open.

"Now that we have that settled, I think it would be a good idea to tell Grandma and Grandpa your name and age. One at a time, please," Chuck said, amusement coloring his tone. He obviously also remembered how the kids had fired off their names in quick succession the first time Sarah met them. The smirks and snickers made it clear the kids remembered, too. "Megan, you're already a pro at talking to your grandmother since you talked to her at the Buy More. You start. We'll go from youngest to oldest this time." Before Megan could begin, Chuck asked, "What did you two talk about, anyway?"

"No offense, Chuck," Mary said, while winking at her youngest granddaughter, "but I think Megan and I would like to keep that just between the two of us."

Megan's eyes looked like they could have popped right out of her head. Sarah recognized the way the little one vibrated and knew she on the verge of becoming completely unglued. Megan kept herself together, though, and said, "Grandma already knows my name is Megan and I'm six." She slapped her hand over her mouth, letting everyone in the room know when she suddenly realized she had given away part of their secret conversation. When no one reacted with anything other than chuckles, Megan continued. "But since Grandpa wasn't right there, I'll tell him." When she gazed up at him with her big, blue eyes and firmly announced, "I'm Megan and I'm six," Sarah saw Stephen absolutely melt.

"It's nice to meet you, Megan," he said. It had taken a total of two minutes. He was now firmly wrapped around her little finger. Sarah couldn't blame him. It happened to everyone who met the charming little girl.

Martie glanced over to Chuck and Sarah. "Go ahead." He smiled at her encouragingly.

"My name's Martie and I'm almost eight and I really like Europe."

"I'm glad you're enjoying your trip," Mary said.

With an unsure wave, Bridget said, "I'm Bridget and I'm eleven."

"Bridget is the family's fashion consultant," Sarah informed them proudly. "She helped redesign the women's Buy More uniforms. We were wearing them today."

"You did?" Stephen asked. Both grandparents were obviously impressed by this information.

"You did a great job. Very classy," Mary said. Bridget beamed at the compliment.

"I'm Curtis and I'm twelve." Sarah noticed when both Mary and Stephen settled their gazes on the pizza sauce stain on the boy's shirt. Each wore knowing smiles and their affection for him shone in their eyes.

"What your favorite thing you've seen so far on your trip, Curtis?" Mary asked.

The boy's face scrunched in thought. Tipping his head to the side, he stared up at a corner of the ceiling. "Oh!" he cried, his face clearing. "We saw St. Wenceslaus' skull in Prague. Well, not up close, but it was right there in the room. And we saw a picture of a guy carrying it on a pillow."

"You're lucky you got to see that. I never got a chance to go inside Prague Castle when I was there."

That got all the kids' attention. "You've been to Prague?" Fred asked.

"Yes, although it was many years ago. Maybe I can tell you about it sometime," Mary said. Her eyes slid toward Chuck as a way of asking permission.

"We might have time for that a little later," he answered noncommittally.

"We also saw Lenin's body today. His skin wasn't hanging off like Fred and I hoped it would, though."

"Not quite the zombie you were hoping to see?" Stephen asked with a sly smile at Chuck.

"Nah," Curtis answered, his voice heavy with disappointment. "It was still a dead guy though, so that counts."

Chuck squeezed Sarah's shoulder as she turned her snicker into a cough. Mary hid her smile behind her fingers while Stephen sat forward in his chair and pointed emphatically at Curtis. "You're right. It does count."

Curtis wore a pleased grin at his grandfather's apparent understanding regarding the importance of zombies.

Everyone then turned toward Lisa. Sarah studied her face and saw the guarded eyes she was so familiar with. Lisa's reaction was the one she was most concerned about. The teen now faced the woman who had left her own mother at the same age she was now.

Sarah watched Mary closely as she searched Lisa's face. Noting the almost imperceptible shift in Mary's manner—where she focused all of her attention solely on Lisa—Sarah was sure Mary recognized Lisa's defensiveness and wariness. The earnestness and sincerity in Mary's bearing toward Lisa told Sarah the other woman knew she would have to work hard to win the girl's trust.

Her eyes locked on Mary's. "I'm Lisa and I'm fourteen."

"Hello, Lisa." Mary's gaze never wavered from Lisa's piercing stare.

"Are we going to ever see you again after tonight?" the teen asked bluntly. Tension sprang up in the room and hung there like humidity in a rainforest.

Sarah's attention was drawn to Stephen when he flinched. Mary, however, maintained her composure and stayed locked in on Lisa. The register of Mary's voice lowered and she spoke her words precisely and deliberately. "There is nothing I would like more in this world than to see you again after tonight. I don't know how much your Aunt Sarah told you about your grandfather and me and why we had to make everyone believe we were dead. Unfortunately for all of us, that reason, that threat, still exists. Until it's gone, we'll have to stay away from you to keep you safe."

"So we'll leave Moscow and that will be the end of it." The two conversed as if no one else was in the room.

"Not necessarily. If we remove the threat, we'll be free to go where we want."

"Is that even possible?"

"Yesterday, I would have said no. Today, I have hope that it could happen."

They both fell silent and it seemed as if time stood still. No one dared move.

"You left our mom."

For the first time, Sarah saw a crack in Mary's façade. "Yes."

"Do you wish you'd stayed with them?"

Mary didn't answer right away, instead dropping her gaze to her clasped hands in her lap. After a long moment, she sighed and looked at Lisa again. "Yes, I wish I'd stayed. I never _wanted_ to leave. But I had a job to do and I needed to do my duty, although I never thought it would take me away from my family for as long as it has. Things don't always turn out the way they're supposed to." Mary's voice cracked when she added, "Sadly, you know that, too."

In the silence, there was something indefinable that passed between grandmother and granddaughter. The shared anguish of Ellie's death—a mother losing a daughter and a daughter losing a mother—seemed to forge a bond between them. Both knew the other felt her pain.

"Even if it's only for one night, I'm glad we got to see you," Lisa finally said. "Both of you."

"We are, too, Lisa," Stephen answered.

Sarah blew out a silent breath in relief and wiped away the tears dampening her cheeks when Lisa looked at Fred, indicating it was his turn to introduce himself. It had been an intense few minutes, but overall Sarah couldn't have been more grateful for the way it turned out. She had the feeling Lisa's reserved nature would still be prominent around Mary and Stephen, but the teen did seem to respond to Mary's candor. It was certainly more desirable than the defensiveness and hostility that each could have shown.

"I'm Fred, I'm fifteen and I'm awesome," her oldest boy said with a dip of his head. He swept his hand to the side with a flourish as if he was brushing away the strain. Everyone in the room responded with smiles, snorts and chuckles as the tension in the room vanished like a vapor. The boy had an almost magical ability to put people at ease.

"While I'm not surprised by this, Fred," Stephen said, leaning forward in his chair, "tell us why you're awesome."

"It's 'cause he has a _girlfriend_," Bridget teased. With squinted eyes and wrinkled nose, she had mischief written all over her face.

"She's not my girlfriend," he said. He was trying to look and sound perturbed but wasn't doing a very good job of it. No one missed the tiny smile he couldn't hide.

"I can give you the sitrep," Megan said officiously.

When Mary and Stephen looked from Megan to Sarah with bemusement, she could only give them a small, embarrassed shrug.

"Me, too," Martie exclaimed.

In tag team fashion, the two took it upon themselves to relate all of the relevant information and vital statistics of Fred's "girlfriend." Megan started off with, "Her name is Amy and we met her in London," and it ping ponged from there.

"She worked at a restaurant we ate at and has a really cool accent. She's from Scotland."

"She has really pretty, red hair. Kinda like Aunt Carina's."

"Aunt Carina? You have a sister?" Mary asked Sarah.

Sarah shook her head. "Carina is a good friend of mine. She's sort of become part of the family."

Megan nodded solemnly. "She's really cool."

Sarah smirked and couldn't wait to text her friend and tell her of the six year-old's ringing endorsement.

Martie got the conversation back on track. "Amy was on one of the other teams and Fred smelled funny that day."

"And he combed his hair," Megan announced. The serious tone made it clear this was extremely important information that had to be conveyed. "He never combs his hair." Fred ran a hand over his head when all eyes were drawn to his unruly blond hair.

"And then she came to see us play in Amsterdam. And she didn't even live there," Martie said dramatically. "She came on purpose. And she kissed him before she got on the train to go back to London." Apparently finished with their report on Amy, the two girls nodded at each other, satisfied that they had given their grandparents clear evidence that Fred did, indeed, have a girlfriend.

Sarah suppressed a giggle. Martie and Megan's account made sense to her, but to someone who didn't have all the background, it was definitely lacking. It didn't seem to matter to Mary and Stephen one bit, though, who gave the impression that they understood everything. Sarah figured they were so pleased to have the two little ones be so comfortable with them they didn't care what they talked about or if any of it made any sense.

"Thank you for the excellent sitrep, girls," Mary said, garnering proud smiles from the two. "I'm convinced. Fred is awesome."

His lopsided grin was both amused and slightly self-conscious.

"Last but not least," Chuck said when everyone's attention fell to Lizzie.

Poised and confident, she held first Mary's gaze and then Stephen's. Just as Sarah had seen earlier in the evening, Lizzie's strong-mindedness shone in her eyes. "I'm Lizzie and I'm seventeen years old."

Mary's breath audibly hitched when Lizzie spoke. Sarah noticed Mary's eyes grow moist as she stared into her granddaughter's face. Clearing her throat, Mary said, "You're so much like your mother."

Lizzie chuckled, cut her eyes toward her uncle and then back to Mary. With a wide smile at her grandmother, she said, "I get that a lot."

"Although, you have your father's blue eyes," Stephen noted. "One of our greatest regrets is that we never got to meet our son-in-law. As the father of you seven great kids, he must have been something special."

Eight heads, including Chuck's, nodded. Sarah had to swallow down the lump that formed in her throat when Fred looked toward her and Chuck and said, "We have some pretty great parents now, too." There were murmurs of agreement from his siblings. Chuck squeezed Sarah's shoulder and croaked, "Thanks, dude." Sarah gave Fred a watery smile.

"So you knew about our dad? How?" Lizzie asked.

"We were in contact with your mother in the years before we had to disappear," Mary answered. That statement was the crack in the dam and immediately a torrent of questions from the kids inundated their grandparents. For the next thirty minutes, they patiently and candidly answered question after question. There were times when Mary or Stephen's furtive glances toward the two youngest girls indicated to everyone else that they were glossing over elements that weren't appropriate for them to hear.

During the course of the "interrogation," the pizza arrived. Once the questions began to dwindle to a trickle, the four were able to dive into the food. The first bite of mushroom pizza Sarah took was like heaven and she surprised herself when she quickly finished the first piece and started in on a second. Fred and Curtis, who had both eaten large quantities of pizza only a couple of hours before, gazed longingly at the food like they were forced participants in a hunger strike.

Chuck swiped a finger at the long, thin string of melted mozzarella hanging down from the slice he lifted from the box and flipped it up so that it landed on top. Before he took a bite, he said, "I have a question I forgot to ask earlier. Why did you stay in Moscow? Weren't you afraid you might run into someone who was supposed to think you were dead? Why not fly off to a desert island somewhere to live?"

Stephen nodded and held up a finger asking for him to wait. He finished chewing, and after swallowing, answered with his own question. "Who was going to help us do that? We couldn't have any contact with the Agency. What if Benoit had an informant? We didn't have the money to go anywhere and try to start a new life. We could have gone someplace more remote here in Russia. There are plenty of places no one could ever find us, like Siberia, but we really believed it wasn't necessary. Moscow has a population of eleven and a half million people. It's easy to get lost in the crowd."

"We were also very careful," Mary said. She wiped her fingers on her napkin and dropped it in her lap. "Since our 'demise,' we've lived in a modest, middle class neighborhood Dmitri helped us get set up in. We knew the people we associated with when we worked for Benoit would never frequent that area. Dmitri was our eyes and ears in case Benoit got suspicious. Thankfully, he never did."

"The first year, we hardly left our flat," Stephen said. He dropped his piece of crust on his plate and set it on the coffee table. "We only went out to buy groceries. Over the years, we've ventured out more and more, but this is the first time we've been in the center of the city since we 'died.'"

Sarah cut her eyes to the boys staring at the crust on Stephen's plate with big, sad eyes. They were worse than dogs begging at a dinner table. Returning her attention to Stephen, she said, "That must have been really difficult."

"We had no choice. We did what we had to do," Stephen answered. There was no bitterness or anger in his voice. It was a simple statement of fact. It was clear they'd come to terms with their fate and were content to live the rest of their lives in hiding. Sarah wondered if they felt that way now that they'd met the children they'd given up everything for. Seeing the glowing pride and the way their eyes settled on each face as if trying to memorize every feature, she had the feeling she already knew the answer.

Sarah's musings were interrupted by Chuck's voice. "Mom, Dad? Did you get enough to eat? Sarah?" When all three answered that they had, Chuck snickered and said, "Okay, boys and girls who are interested, you can have what's left."

Lisa pulled a disgusted face when Fred and Curtis pounced on the pizza and crammed slices in their mouths. "You two are disgusting. It's like watching zombies devour someone's brain."

"Braaaaaains," Fred drawled around the wad of food. Curtis' grin at his brother spread across cheeks so stuffed, he looked like a chipmunk hoarding nuts. While everyone else snorted and rolled their eyes, Stephen and Mary obviously enjoyed the boys' playfulness and relished the chance to see it.

Stephen glanced down at his watch. "I hate to say it, everyone, but it's getting late and we need to go home."

Disappointed groans of "no" filled the room. "This is a big apartment," Bridget said. Eyebrows raised in question, she asked Chuck in a tentative voice, "Maybe they could stay with us overnight?"

"We don't want to put anyone out," Mary replied with a shake of her head.

Mirroring Bridget, Chuck's eyebrows rose as he silently asked Sarah what she thought of the idea.

"They could sleep on the pull out couch. I can sleep on some cushions on the floor," Lisa offered.

Megan wagged her head at her sister. "I'm the one who always sleeps on the cushions. I'm good at it."

It would be crowded, but under these extraordinary circumstances, it was really the best solution, maximizing the amount of time the kids could spend with their grandparents. Sarah nodded her approval.

"We don't have any clothes with us," Stephen pointed out.

Fred gnawed on a piece of leftover pizza crust. "I have an extra TARDIS t-shirt you could wear, Grandpa. You'd be looking stylish."

Stephen's eyes flashed with humor. "I'm a little bigger than you are, Fred, but thanks for the offer."

"With all the men around here, I'm sure we can find something for you," Sarah replied. "And Mary, I'm sure we can fix you up, too."

She laughed. "There's no way I'm fitting in any of your clothes, Sarah, or the girls'."

Bridget waved a dismissive hand. "No problem. Wear the pants you have on now, throw on one of Lizzie's tops and borrow Aunt Sarah's cardigan sweater. You're all set."

"She's right," Sarah said with a chuckle.

Mary and Stephen nodded at each other. "I guess it's agreed," Mary said. "We'll stay."

A cheer went up and then the kids started talking over each other. "Can they go sightseeing with us tomorrow?"

"Maybe we can stay longer in Moscow."

"Can we go see where they live?"

Chuck called for quiet and when the excitement settled down, he said, "I'm not sure what we're going to do tomorrow. We need to figure that out." To his parents, Chuck asked, "Are you up to seeing Morgan tonight? I'm sure he'd love to see you. And you need to meet Casey."

"Uncle Casey!" the kids cheered.

"Uncle?" Stephen asked.

"My partner," Sarah replied. "Casey and I were sent together to Beaver Creek to protect Chuck and the kids. He's part of the family now."

"We'd certainly like to meet him and see Morgan again," Stephen said. "We saw him from a distance, but recognized him right away, even with the beard." With a smile, he added, "He's not much taller than he was when he was eleven."

Chuck sent a text and within a couple of minutes, there was a knock at the door. Sarah let Morgan and Casey in. When Chuck's parents stood, Sarah said, "This is my partner, Major John Casey of the NSA. Casey, meet Stephen and Mary Bartowski."

As Casey shook their hands, he sized them up through squinted eyes. Grandparents or not, Sarah knew Casey would assess them and ensure they weren't a threat to the kids. Although the big man would never admit it, Sarah was pretty sure his concern wasn't only for the kids' physical wellbeing. She knew this because she had the same qualms gnawing at her. It wasn't that she believed any emotional wreckage would be intentional. But it would be there nonetheless.

"Major Casey, thank you for protecting our son and grandchildren," Mary said. Her thanks weren't effusive—Sarah had learned quickly that Mary was a restrained person—but Sarah could see it was genuine.

"You're welcome," Casey replied. When the silence stretched and it started to grow awkward, Morgan stepped around Casey with a shy smile. He raised a hesitant hand and gave them a small wave. "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski. Wow, um, I don't know if you remember me." He splayed his hand to his chest. "Morgan Grimes. Chuck's best friend."

"Yes, of course, Morgan," Stephen said, offering his hand to shake. "It's wonderful to see you again, too. I'm glad you and Charles have remained friends all these years."

Chuck rested a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Morgan helped me get through a lot, didn't you, buddy?" His tone was light and the words were spoken only as a compliment toward his friend, but Sarah couldn't miss the flashes of guilt on his parents' faces.

Recovering quickly, Mary shook Morgan's hand and said, "Thank you for always being there for Chuck. And the kids."

With a smile, he said, "Aw, it was nothing. You know I'd do anything for the Bartowskis."

"Especially Ellie," Mary said with a soft smile, obviously remembering the crush he'd had on her daughter so many years ago.

His smile grew slightly sheepish. "Especially Ellie." After a pause, he added, "And hey! You know, congratulations on not being dead after all."

"Thanks," Stephen said with a chuckle. "We're pretty happy about that, too."

"Okay," Chuck started, "so, yeah. It's getting late and we still need to get sleeping arrangements rearranged here, so Casey and Morgan, if you could take Fred and Curtis back to the Moscow Man Cave with you, we'll see you guys in the morning."

After some quick "goodnights," the four left and the preparations for bedtime began in earnest. While Sarah helped Martie and Megan take their baths, Chuck got the pullout bed ready for his parents and arranged the cushions for Megan's makeshift bed on the floor of the bedroom where Lizzie and Bridget slept.

Once all the girls were settled in their beds, Sarah suddenly felt bone weary and in need of a good night's sleep. She stepped into the living room where Chuck and his parents were talking. "I'm off to bed."

Chuck spun around to face her and said, "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay, sweetie." She exchanged goodnight greetings with Mary and Stephen and headed for her room. As she closed the door behind her, she realized how much she craved a few minutes of alone time. After everything that had happened that day, her brain was buzzing and she needed a few minutes to sort through her thoughts. While it was exciting for everyone that Chuck's parents were back in his and the kids' lives, the circumstances surrounding them were less than ideal. The trip was almost over and they were scheduled to fly back to the States the day after the next. How could they leave his parents here to fend for themselves the rest of their lives, separated from him and their grandchildren? Did they have a choice? Could they smuggle them into the US to live with them? Or hide them in a nearby cabin in the Rockies? She shook her head. She knew the answer to that. His parents would never agree to it. They gave up everything to keep Chuck and the kids safe. There was no way they would risk the chance of exposure and potentially bringing danger to the kids.

She changed into her nightie and slipped into bed. After sinking back against the pillows and staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes, she realized there was really only one solution. Once she came to that realization, the storm in her brain began to calm.

She heaved a sigh and was about to turn off the light when Chuck stole into the room. He looked wired and exhausted and exhilarated and bewildered and overwhelmed. In less than thirty seconds, he was out of his clothes and under the covers. She pushed herself a little higher up on her pillows and held her arms out to him. "Come here."

He gave her a grateful smile, bounced over to snuggle next to her and rested his head on her shoulder. She slipped an arm around his shoulders and began to gently rub her fingertips across his upper arm. His muscles were tight under her touch and his whole body was rigid and tense. "Quite a day," she said softly.

"Yeah. I feel like my head's about to explode."

"Don't blame you. It's a lot to process."

"It's great and it's weird and it's crazy and stressful and my parents are back and I don't know what it all means." Flustered, his words rushed and tumbled over each other.

"I know."

"What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know."

"How can we just leave them here thinking we might never see them again? It will devastate the kids."

"And you."

He sighed. "And me."

She continued to gently stroke his arm and as she did so, the muscles started to relax.

"Sarah?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"What if they try to leave during the night? What if they decide it's better if they disappear again?"

"Did you see the way they couldn't take their eyes off the kids? I don't think they'll do that."

"But what if they do?"

"We find them again."

"How? We don't know where they live. Like they said earlier, it's easy to get lost in a city of eleven and a half million people."

She lowered her eyes and a tiny smirk formed. "I don't think it would be an issue."

Rolling his eyes up to look at her, he asked in sly tone, "What did you do?"

"When they were saying their goodnights to the girls, I stuck one of Casey's trackers on the inside of your mom's purse."

He lowered his gaze and chuckled. "Of course you did."

"I'm a spy. It's what I do."

After the companionable silence had stretched for several minutes, Sarah asked, "What did you and your parents talk about when I went to get the kids to meet them?"

"You."

Her hand stilled. "Me?"

"Mm-hmm. They both talked about how poised, intelligent, confident and beautiful you are. Dad used the word 'stunning' and my mom called you 'gorgeous.' And just before I came to bed, they also mentioned how great you are with the kids and how they obviously adore you."

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, glad that she seemed to have made a pretty good impression. "That's sweet of them to say."

"Oh! You're also funny and adorable and sexy."

Dubious, she looked at him through lowered lashes. "They said 'sexy'?"

"Okay, so I added the last three just now. But they're true."

"You're sweet." She kissed his forehead. "And funny and adorable and sexy." Her fingers resumed their ministrations.

"I also told them about Devon and Ellie and how happy they were and what great parents they were." He sighed. "I wish Ellie had told me she was in contact with them."

"I know. But she did what they asked her to do. It may not make sense now, but at the time, your parents did what they thought was right. Parents do stuff their kids don't understand all the time. I know that first-hand."

"You're right." After another moment, Chuck asked in a soft voice, "Is there anything we can do to get them out of Russia?"

This time, it was her turn to sigh. "Sure. There are all kinds of ways we can sneak them back to the States."

His head shifted a little so he could look up at her face. "There are?"

"Mm-hmm. Most of them are illegal and involve the use of Agency assets, like an airplane, fake passports, things like that. And while I'm not opposed to doing whatever it takes to get them home, the real question is would your parents agree to whatever plan we came up with to sneak them out?"

She felt his tension finally release, but she knew it was in defeat, not relief. "No." He tilted his face away. "They would never do anything that might put the kids in danger. Their plan has worked for the past five years. They'll choose to stay here and not take any risks." His thumb brushed back and forth over her hipbone. "So that's it. We leave the day after tomorrow and never see them again."

"Maybe. There is another solution. Your mom mentioned it earlier."

The thumb stilled. "She did? What did she say?"

"We remove the threat. We take Benoit and his syndicate out, once and for all. Once he's gone—and by that I mean either dead or in custody, I personally don't care which—the threat is gone. And he never has to find out your parents are still alive."

"That's a great idea, but the worldwide intelligence community has been looking for him for three months and hasn't found him yet." His thumb started rubbing her skin again. "You've been asking around, too."

"True, but we haven't asked around Moscow yet, have we? For the first time, we have someone we can talk to inside the illegal part of Benoit's organization."

"Dmitri?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Do you think he knows?"

"He might. Can't hurt to ask." She'd heard the excitement in his voice. "Try not to get your hopes up though. He may not know."

"I'll try." After a short pause, he asked, "Can we talk to him tomorrow?"

She smiled. "I'm hoping so. Right now, though, we need to get some sleep."

He nodded and stayed where he was. After a couple of minutes, she peeked down and saw that his face had grown peaceful and the crinkle lines between his eyebrows had smoothed and disappeared.

Reaching over, she switched off the lamp and carefully scooted down to lie a little flatter. His thumb ended its motion and his soft, steady breathing began to lull her. He was like her very own sleep sound machine.

With her husband nestled in her arms, her final thought before she yielded to sleep was one of safety and security. No matter what, they would always have each other.

~ O ~

When Sarah fell asleep the night before, Chuck's head had been resting on her shoulder with her arm around him. During the night, they changed sleeping positions and she awoke the next morning to find her head on his shoulder and her arm draped across his chest. _This works, too_, she thought at she dozed, cozy and happy.

She stirred again some time later. The slice of sunlight glowing through the crack in the curtains informed her morning had arrived. Unable to ignore her need to use the bathroom, she forced herself to roll away from the warmth radiating from her husband and slid out of bed. If it had just been the girls in the apartment, she would have headed for the bathroom in her nightie. With Chuck's parents having stayed overnight and with the real possibility of running into one of them in the hallway, she decided to slip on a pair of shorts and pull on her oversized Harvard sweatshirt.

Chuck rolled onto his side as she dressed, but remained asleep. Barefoot, she stole out of the room and silently pulled the door closed. Once she'd finished in the bathroom, she tiptoed past the rooms where the girls were still sleeping to check on the status of Mary and Stephen. She found Mary sitting alone at the kitchen table with a mug in front of her, steam curling up from its contents. Glancing over at the living room, the bed had been stowed away and the room had been returned to normal.

"Good morning," Sarah said in a low tone so as to not to disturb the still slumbering occupants of the apartment.

"Good morning." Mary's replied greeting was as quiet as Sarah's and accompanied by a small smile. "I found some tea in one of the cupboards. There's hot water in the kettle on the stove if you're interested."

"I am. Thanks." As she moved to the kitchen, she felt Mary's eyes follow her. Glad to have something to focus on and distract her away from the fact that she was about to interact one-on-one with her mother-in-law, Sarah busied herself by dropping a tea bag in a mug and slowly pouring a stream of hot water over it. Her stomach suddenly clenched with the realization that she actually _had_ a mother-in-law. Devon's mother, Honey, certainly was an intimidating person, but she was the kids' grandmother, not her husband's mother. This was a very different thing. She set the kettle back on the burner, picked up the mug and carried it to the dining room table. Sitting down in the chair directly across from Mary, she watched the water turn amber as she tugged at the string making the tea bag bounce up and down.

"Did you sleep okay?" Sarah asked. She raised the mug to her lips and blew across the surface before taking a tiny sip of the hot liquid. It needed to steep longer, but she didn't care. She needed something to do with her hands.

"Yes, thank you." After an awkward pause, Mary asked, "Chuck's still asleep?"

"Mm-hmm." Sarah looked around the room. "Where's Stephen?"

"Casey came by here a little while ago and invited him over to have coffee. Apparently, the boys mentioned that Stephen was a weapons expert for the Agency and Casey wanted to 'talk shop.' Stephen was thrilled. He's always thinking up new gadgets and still tinkers around in the workshop we set up in a bedroom. He hasn't been able to talk about his work to anyone other than me for years."

Sarah chuckled. "Casey's always up for talking about weapons of any shape and size." After a moment, she said, "You two have done a great job of hiding. Chuck combed through Agency databases and I even talked to some agents you knew in the past to try to get any information on you, what might have happened to you. We never found anything."

"I'm not surprised. You know what it's like, Sarah. Just because you're part of the Agency, agents, even retired ones, aren't going to tell you anything unless you've been read into the specific program. Besides, I'm sure the Agency didn't want any paper trails regarding Stephen and me working for Benoit."

Sarah nodded. Now that she knew what had happened to Frost and Orion, she understood why they never found any information on them. "Even if we'd found your files, they'd probably be so redacted, we wouldn't have learned anything anyway."

"Exactly." Mary took another sip of her tea.

Sarah absently fingered the handle of her mug. "It must be difficult for you, having to live under the radar."

Mary shrugged a shoulder. "It hasn't been terrible. We've made some friends in the neighborhood. To them, we're just a retired couple who don't go out much. It's a simple life, but if it's kept Chuck and the kids safe, it's been worth it."

"Well, I want to thank you for the sacrifices you've made. Because of them, Chuck and the kids came into my life. They've made it better than I could have ever believed possible."

"It was never a sacrifice." It startled Sarah a little to hear that phrase. Chuck had said it to her the evening he told her how he'd given up everything to take the kids, move them to a new state and give them a home. _It was never a sacrifice_. Mary tipped her head and considered Sarah for a moment. "I get the feeling you would do anything for them, too."

She held Mary's gaze. "I would."

Mary nodded thoughtfully. "I was surprised to see you wearing the charm bracelet yesterday. I put it on Ellie's nightstand the day I left. I obviously had no idea what happened to it after that but I wouldn't have blamed her if she'd had stuffed it in a drawer and never wanted to see it again."

Sarah shook her head. "Just the opposite. I'm told she wore it all the time. It's become a family heirloom." Mary's breath caught at Sarah's words. "It was given to Lizzie when Ellie died, although she said it really belonged to all of the kids. When Chuck and I got back from our honeymoon, they presented it to me as a way of welcoming me into the Bartowski family." Tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she remembered that day. "They said I was like their mom and they wanted me to have it. I've been proud to wear it ever since." When Mary remained silent and Sarah saw pain flash in the other woman's eyes, she added, "Please know I'll never try to take Ellie's place."

"Oh, I'm not concerned about that," she replied quickly. "I'm glad they have you. It's obvious the kids are happy and know they're loved." Mary's eyes turned cloudy with concern. "You're a CIA agent with a family. I know the kinds of conflicts that can cause." Her gaze dropped and she seemed to look unseeing at the center of the table. Her voice was low and barely above a whisper when she said, "Don't let the job rob you of your family."

Sarah couldn't begin to imagine the regret Mary lived with. "Don't worry. I won't. I'm an only child who didn't exactly have a stable home life growing up and until I met Chuck, the Agency is all I ever knew. Now that I have a family of my own, I'll never give it up."

Mary nodded and looked greatly relieved. As if giving herself a moment to gather herself, she raised her tea to take a sip. After setting it back on the table her eyes flicked to Sarah's sweatshirt and she said, "Harvard. Is that where you went to school? Were you recruited by the Agency there?"

Sarah was happy to go along with the shift in subject. "My relationship with the Agency started when I was in high school. My father got into a bit of a scrape and Langston Graham helped us out." She saw Mary's eyebrows rise, but her mother-in-law made no comment. Sarah continued, "Apparently, he saw something in me that made him think I had potential as an agent. The Agency put me through Harvard and then I went straight into training as soon as I graduated."

"Langston Graham," Mary said with a chuckle. "I haven't heard that name in a long time. He and I started at the Agency around the same time."

"He's the Agency director now."

This news didn't seem to surprise Mary at all. "I can see it. He was always married to the job."

"He still is," Sarah said with a quiet laugh. "Chuck and I have a running joke that we think he never leaves his office. We think he sleeps there."

A small smile flashed on Mary's face as she took another sip of tea. "It's probably not far off. I remember Graham being a by the book kind of guy. I'm surprised he consented to you and Chuck getting married. Handler and asset relationships are usually frowned upon. How did you break the news of your relationship to him?"

This time Sarah didn't bother muffling her laugh. "I kissed Chuck during a video conference. Rather soundly."

Mary jerked her head up, startled. "That could have cost you your career. You were willing to make that sacrifice?"

"It wouldn't have been a sacrifice," came the reply.

A look of understanding passed over the other woman's face. "So Graham just capitulated?"

"Not at first. He threatened to remove me from the mission and replace me." Sarah took a drink of tea and enjoyed the feel of the warm liquid as it slid down her throat. "However, Chuck presented a persuasive argument and Graham relented." She couldn't stop the pride from seeping into her voice.

"He threatened to quit working on his important project?"

"Mm-hmm. Since then, the director has come to recognize and appreciate the fact that our commitment to each other only enhances our willingness to do anything to keep the other safe."

"Like Chuck going on the mission to rescue you in Prague."

"Yes."

Mary fell silent for a moment. "Do you think he can forgive us?"

"He understands that when you had me kidnapped you didn't know I was married to him."

Mary's gaze dropped and she pinned her stare to the rim of her mug.

"Oh." She didn't know how to handle that reaction. "Mary, I—"

Raising her hand to stop Sarah, Mary looked up and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that."

"I was just going say that I'm not sure he hasn't already. He's that kind of person." Sarah felt her protective nature flame in her chest as her eyes bored into Mary's. If she was out of line, she didn't care. "Don't hurt him again."

Mary swallowed and looked away from Sarah's intense gaze. "Trust me. That's the last thing Stephen or I want to do." She took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. "Unfortunately, that will probably happen when you all leave tomorrow and Stephen and I have to stay here."

"You know, Chuck and I were talking about this a little last night. Maybe I should wait until he's here and we can discuss it together."

Mary shook her head vehemently. "I know what you're going to suggest. I can tell you right now Stephen and I have already decided there's no way we're putting the kids in danger by trying to sneak out of Russia. We're not willing to take the risk. Otherwise, we would have done it by now."

Sarah was about to respond when Chuck, looking sleepy with his eyelids only open halfway, came from the hall. He wore jeans and a grey t-shirt with the words, Salzburg, Austria, emblazoned on the front with the city's coat of arms at the center. Like his wife, he, too, was barefoot. He walked directly over to Sarah, leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Morning, sweetheart."

"Good morning," Sarah purred and brushed the side of his face with her hand.

His head hovered next to hers and then he kissed her cheek again. Straightening, he continued, "Morning, Mom. And you would have done what by now?"

"Morning, Chuck. There's hot water for tea if you want it." As he wandered into the kitchen, she said, "Sarah and I were just discussing the idea of you trying to sneak us out of Russia. I told her your father and I won't take the risk. If we didn't care, we would have left by now."

Sarah heard the sound of water pouring and then the rattle of the kettle being placed back on the burner. "That's what we figured you would say," he replied. He sat down in the empty chair next to Sarah and set his drink on the table. To his wife, he asked, "Did you tell her our idea?"

"I was just about to. You want to?"

He shook his head and lifted the mug from the table. "Go for it."

She nodded and looked back at Mary. "We realized you mentioned the way for you to be free to do whatever you want is to remove the threat. You even said for the first time you thought it was a real possibility. You meant taking out Benoit, didn't you?"

"I did. It's the only way."

"You know we don't know where he is."

"Yes, but I know someone who might."

"Dmitri. Do you think he'll talk to us?"

Sarah noticed the hint of a smile on Mary's face as she raised her mug to her lips. "He might even agree to meet with you, if you promise not to fillet him for kidnapping you with one of the knives you strap to your ankle."

"I'm sure he'll be confident you'll have his back with the Beretta 90Two you carry," Sarah responded with an amused smirk.

Chuck's eyes widened and the mug he held hovered motionless halfway between the table and his mouth, which now gaped open. Sarah reached over, put her finger under his chin and closed his jaw. His teeth came together with a snap.

Mary snickered and shot Sarah a look of approval. "I'll make the call."

~ O ~

A short time after Mary called Dmitri and asked him to meet them at the apartment, the girls started to file out of the bedrooms, one by one. It became clear very quickly that the apartment was lacking food for breakfast. With shopping list in hand courtesy of Mary who insisted on making breakfast for everyone, Sarah took Lizzie with her and the two walked toward the nearest market.

Moscow was bustling that Monday morning as people crowded the sidewalks, hurrying on their way to work. Trolleybuses, powered by electricity that came from wires suspended overhead were mixed in with cars that sped past.

The two had walked several blocks when Lizzie glanced over at Sarah and said, "I know you asked me to come along so you'd have someone to help you with the shopping, but why do I get the sneaking suspicion you have an ulterior motive?"

"Who, me?" Sarah asked, feigning indignity. With a sly smile, she linked her arm through Lizzie's and said, "You're too smart for your own good, young lady. I did want you to come with me to help do the shopping. I just thought it would be a good time—"

"—for you to find out what us girls thought of our grandparents without anyone else around," Lizzie finished for her, her eyes still cut toward her aunt.

Laughing, Sarah said, "Like I just said, you're too smart for your own good." They reached the market and entered. It was fairly new and reminded Sarah of supermarkets in the States. It was just another indication of how much the country had changed in the last twenty years. Lizzie snagged a shopping cart and followed Sarah as she led the way up and down the aisles.

"Are you going to keep me in suspense, Liz, or are you going to give me the intel on what you girls talked about last night?" Sarah asked, gently placing a dozen eggs in the cart.

"What makes you think we talked about anything last night?"

Sarah's eye roll made the teen laugh out loud. "Okay, okay. Yes, we talked some last night. It was just me and Bridget and Megan, though. I don't know what Lisa and Martie thought since they were in the other room, although knowing those two, we can pretty well guess at their reactions. Martie loves everybody immediately and Lisa's harder to convince." She paused as she made the turn to go down the aisle with the baking goods. "I've gotta say, though, something weird happened last night when Lisa and Grandma—" Lizzie shook her head. "It's just so bizarre to say that. Anyway, it was like this weird thing happened between them. Did you see?"

"I did." Sarah glanced at the list and then started loading up the cart with sugar, flour, baking soda and vegetable oil. "I think maybe your grandmother and Lisa are a lot alike and understand each other better than any of the rest of us do."

They moved off toward the dairy section. "Maybe," Lisa replied. "Anyway, you won't be shocked to know that Megan thinks both of them are really cool because they're—" she stopped herself just in time from saying "spies" and changed it to, "because of their occupations. But don't worry, Aunt Sarah. Megan still loves you best."

Sarah chuckled. "I'm glad," she said, meaning it. "And Bridget?"

"Of course she wasn't impressed by their clothes," Lizzie said with a snort. After a pause, she grew serious. "I think Bridget and I are still having a hard time with why Grandma left Grandpa, Mom and Uncle Chuck in the first place. I mean, we get it—"

"But you still can't see how she left, knowing she'd be gone for a while. Granted, it ended up a lot longer than she imagined, but she still left."

"Yeah." Lizzie stared down at the contents of the cart when she asked in a quiet voice, "Would you leave us like Grandma did?"

"No," she answered immediately. "I couldn't do that. To me or you guys. I told my boss I wouldn't go on any long term missions. You know I'll still go on short ones occasionally."

"Yeah, but those are more like when my friends' moms go on business trips."

"I guess that's kind of what they are." She sighed. "Anyway, I'm no expert on any of this, but my advice would be to try to do the opposite of what you did yesterday with your dance party." When Lizzie's brows pulled together, she explained. "You said that you decided to celebrate that our trip here happened instead of being sad it was almost over. Maybe with your grandparents, you can try to be happy that they're back in your lives and not focus as much on the reasons they were gone."

Lizzie squinted at her. "I wish I could argue with you, but you're using my own words against me." There was blend of vexation, amusement and admiration in her voice.

With a short laugh, Sarah said, "Cutting off a teenager's argument? I should win an award or something."

"Don't get used to it," Lizzie said with a smirk.

Sarah set several more items in the cart and noticed Lizzie looking up and around at the ceiling with a mildly confused look. "What's the matter?" Sarah asked.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"The music they're playing over the speakers."

Sarah tuned in to listen and heard a piano with a woman singing in Russian. She listened for a moment and then raised an eyebrow. "She's singing to her ex-boyfriend about how she still has feelings for him even though he's moved on. She wants the best for him and says she'll find someone like him."

Lizzie threw out her hands and said, "_Thank_ you! I _thought_ I knew that song."

"How do you know a Russian pop song?"

Shaking her head, she snickered and said, "It's a Russian cover of an Adele song called, _Someone Like You_."

"Oh, I remember you saying once that no one should ever sing Adele but Adele. Not even in Russian?"

"Not even in Russian." Lizzie's blue eyes shone with delight. "I know! You can teach Adele the words and then _she_ could sing it in Russian. Wouldn't that be awesome? Problem solved."

"As long as I don't have to sing, I'm happy to help."

Lizzie pushed the cart down the next aisle. "I'll call Adele's people and get back to you," she deadpanned.

The two finished their shopping and paid for the groceries. As they carried the bags back to the apartments, Sarah explained who Dmitri was and why they were meeting with him right after breakfast when Lizzie asked what would happen to her grandparents.

By the time they arrived back at the apartments, everyone was up. Some dressed, some still in pajamas, the occupants of both flats flowed freely back and forth between the two. The mood was festive and it reminded Sarah of the floor parties they had when she lived in the dorms at Harvard.

Her mission of fetching groceries now accomplished, Sarah poured herself another cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table across from Megan. The little girl's eyes were fixed on Stephen and Mary and watched them as they worked together mixing up two batches of batter in giant bowls. "Hey, Grandma and Grandpa. Whatcha making?"

"We're going to make blini for everyone," Stephen answered. "They're Russian pancakes."

"Are they good?" she asked.

"You bet they are," he said. "People here eat them all the time. They're a little different than the kind of pancakes you're used to at home. And instead of syrup, people here put melted butter, sour cream, jam, honey or caviar on them."

Megan's face scrunched. "What's caviar?"

His eyes grew round and he gasped in mock surprise. "You don't know what caviar is?" he asked dramatically. "It's only one of the most famous Russian foods there is."

Megan huffed a breath and held her hands out, palms up. "Come on, Grandpa. I've only been in Russia for two days."

Sarah grinned into her cup as she took a sip of tea. She couldn't miss the unadulterated delight that flashed in Stephen's eyes at Megan's response. Clearly, he'd met his match and he was thrilled by it.

Mary peeked over her shoulder, an amused and content smile gracing her face. "She's got a point, dear."

Deciding to throw a curveball into the conversation, Sarah said, "I bought some caviar, Stephen."

His eyebrows shot up. "You did? It's so expensive. You didn't need to do that."

Shrugging, she said, "I thought it might be fun for the kids to give it a try, if they want. It's good for them to try new things."

"You didn't pay for Beluga, I hope," Stephen said.

She snorted. "Oh, no. I only bought an ounce of Sevruga."

"You seem to know a lot about caviar," Stephen said. His tone wasn't accusatory, only curious.

"I lived in St. Petersburg for a time."

Nodding, he said, "Ah." Without another word, he spun on his heel and scurried into the kitchen.

"I still don't know what caviar is," Megan grumbled.

Stephen returned with a small round tin in his hand. He sat down in the chair next to Megan and held it for her to see.

"Why's it got a fish on the lid?" she asked.

He lowered his voice and glanced over each shoulder. Then he leaned closer, as if he were about to tell her the secret launch code of a nuclear missile. "Because caviar comes from the inside of fish. Caviar is fish eggs." He took the lid off to reveal a mass of small, round, black eggs.

"Salty fish eggs," Sarah amended. "It's a delicacy that people all over the world love to eat."

Megan scrunched her nose and peered cautiously at the contents of the tin. "Why would anyone eat fish eggs?"

"Why not?" Stephen asked. "You eat eggs that come from chickens, don't you?"

The six year-old's brows lowered and her eyes lasered in on her grandfather. "Yeah, but they don't look like BBs."

"Good point," he said, trying to hide his grin.

Megan cut her eyes over to Sarah. "Do you like caviar, Aunt Sarah?"

"Yes, I do. I think it's wonderful, although most people say it's an acquired taste."

"What's that mean?"

"You might not like it much the first time you try it, but then you develop a taste for it the more you eat it."

Dubious, Megan peered back at the tin. "I'm not sure I'd like it."

"You wouldn't like what?" Fred asked. He strolled through the front door wearing jeans and his beloved TARDIS t-shirt. He was barefoot and wore a baseball cap with "Praha" stitched on the front in an obvious attempt to cover his "bed head."

"Fish eggs." There was still the slightest hint of disgust in her voice.

Fred's face lit up. "Caviar?" he asked, flopping down in an empty chair at the table. "It's really pricey, right?" He looked over at his aunt who nodded. An impish, crooked smile formed. "I'll try it if you will, Megs."

Sarah knew Megan didn't like to back down from a challenge, doubly so when it was issued by one of her brothers. From the rascally look on Fred's face, he knew it, too.

"You don't have to try it if you don't want to, Megan," Sarah said. From the determination now etched on the girl's face, Sarah knew her words wouldn't change her mind.

Her eyelids lowered to mere slits, she considered her brother. When he grinned at her and said in a coaxing voice, "Come on. You know you want to," she agreed.

"Are you both sure?" Stephen asked. "Like your aunt said, it's an acquired taste."

The siblings eyed at each other. It was no surprise to Sarah when neither backed down.

Stephen went back into the kitchen and returned with the plate of crackers Chuck had put out the evening before. "You should never eat caviar with a metal spoon. Use one of these crackers and get a few of the berries on it."

"Only a few?" Fred asked.

"Let's start off slow," Stephen replied. "I don't think you want a big glob."

Sarah set her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. Hidden behind her curled fingers, her lips twitched in a smile as she watched the two gingerly scoop a bit of caviar onto each of their crackers.

Mary leaned her shoulder against a wall to watch. The tension around the table built as both seemed to be screwing up their courage.

"Hey, what's up?" Chuck asked as he walked up and stood behind his wife.

"Shhhh." She shifted her fingers so they rested on her cheek but kept her chin on her hand. "They're going to try some caviar."

"Oooo! Cool." Sarah fought a snicker when she thought back on the first time she'd talked Chuck into trying it. He wasn't a fan.

"Okay, Megs, you ready?" Fred asked. When she nodded he counted down, "Three, two, one."

Simultaneously, they crunched into their crackers. A couple of chews in, Megan's brow lowered and her nose scrunched. She seemed more confused by the flavor than actively disliking it. There was a frown, but she didn't have the strong reaction Sarah thought she would.

Fred's reaction, on the other hand, was exactly what she expected. After the initial shock, he squeezed his eyes shut and his face twisted into a horrified grimace. He quickly finished chewing and swallowed it down with a full body shudder. Then he stuck out his tongue and wiped it with the front of his shirt. "Blech. It's really fishy and salty."

"Well, it comes from the inside of a fish," Chuck said. "Don't think anything can get much fishier than that."

Megan swallowed down her bite. She still looked more confused than anything else.

"What do you think of it, Megan?" Mary asked.

Before she could answer, Curtis approached the table. "Oh boy! Crackers and dip. I'm hungry." He snatched a wafer from the plate, scooped a glob of caviar onto it and popped it in his mouth. As he crunched the cracker, he squinted and tilted his head to one side. Then his face cleared and he shrugged. He took another cracker, dug it into the tin and loaded it up with what Sarah estimated to be about twenty dollars worth of caviar. He turned and as he walked toward the hallway—leaving the occupants of the dining room speechless—he leaned his head back, opened his mouth and dropped the food into it like a bomber releasing its payload. The room behind him exploded in laughter when they heard him say just before he disappeared down the hall, "Weird dip."

~ O ~

It was a strange feeling for Sarah to be sitting in the same room with the man who had shot her with a tranquilizer gun, twice, kidnapped her and cable-tied her to a chair for hours on end. And yet there he was. Even though Mary and Stephen had warned Dmitri before he arrived at the apartment that the woman and man they had asked him to kidnap were in fact their daughter-in-law and her partner, surprise still registered on his face when he saw them. Chagrined, he had been effusive with his apologies to not only Sarah and Casey, but to Chuck as well.

Sarah and Chuck had both accepted his apology graciously and shook his hand. Casey, however, hadn't been quite as forgiving, but at least managed to grunt, "Thanks for not punching me." And while their handshake hadn't been particularly warm, it was better than open hostility. Still, the two men gave each other a wide berth and sat at opposite ends of the living room.

"Dmitri," Chuck started, "I want to thank you for helping my parents. We know you put your own safety and your family's at risk to help me and mine. I can't thank you enough."

"It was my honor to help them. I am gratified to know that you and your family have remained safe from Benoit and his men. May I also say I am sorry for the loss of your sister and her husband." He glanced over at Stephen and Mary, their faces stoic, and then down at his clasped hands resting on his lap. "That was a terrible time."

Sarah snuck a peek at Chuck and saw the muscles in his jaw working. "Yes, it was."

The blond Russian man nodded tightly.

All eyes were drawn to Stephen when he cleared his throat. "Dmitri was with us during our bouts that swung between utter despair and blind rage. He kept us from doing anything rash." Stephen looked over at him and said, "Thank you, my friend."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"You're probably wondering why you're here, though, other than to meet our family," Mary said. To Sarah she said, "Would you like to explain?"

"Sure," she answered. Addressing Dmitri, she started, "You are probably aware that about three months ago, Henri Benoit went underground."

"Yes, although we in the organization were given very little information as to why."

"Evidence of his years of illegal activities has recently surfaced and is now in the possession of the authorities." It wasn't that she didn't trust Dmitri, but there was no reason to give him more information than he needed. So she kept the fact that she had been the one who took the ledger from Benoit's safe to herself. "Different international police and intelligence agencies are trying to apprehend him so he can be brought to trial. He found out and went into hiding. Discovering where Benoit is hiding has been Major Casey's and my task while touring Europe."

"And you are wondering if I know where he is," Dmitri said.

"Yes. If we can track him down, arrest him and he ends up rotting in jail for the rest of his life, the threat to my family and yours goes away."

His shoulders slumped. "I wish I knew, but I do not. I have not spoken with him directly in some time. There has not been as much work for me since he has gone to ground."

Everyone in the room seemed to deflate with disappointment. Sarah shook her head. "It's okay. We thought we'd ask." She wasn't ready to give up yet. "Are you the top operative for Benoit here in Moscow?"

"Yes and no. I am for those who work only for him. However, Benoit usually makes deals directly with the Russian businessmen. Benoit instructs me—although since he has disappeared it has been one of his right-hand men that tells me—what I am to do after the deals are made with these men."

"And these men are the so-called, 'oligarchs,'" Sarah said.

"Yes."

"Is there one in particular he works with the most?" Casey asked, leaning forward in his chair. "One that he might have been in contact with recently?"

The room fell quiet as Dmitri mulled over Casey's question. Sarah had to remind herself to breathe. After the silence seemed to drag on for what felt like an eternity, Dmitri's head snapped up. "Now that I think about it, the only work I have done in the last three months has been with one man in particular. He and Benoit have worked closely for many years."

Mary and Stephen looked at each other and at the same time said, "Pavel Zuyev."

"I see you remember him."

"Who's Pavel Zuyev?" Chuck asked.

"Zuyev was almost like Benoit's younger brother. He made the bulk of his fortune in aluminum, but supplemented his income in less than legal ways," Stephen said. "They've remained close?"

"Yes," Dmitri answered. "If there is anyone in Moscow who might know the whereabouts of Henri Benoit, it is Pavel Zuyev."

A chill shot up Sarah's spine. "If you asked him, would he tell you where Benoit is?"

Dmitri shook his head. "No. If I am to know, I would know. Zuyev would not tell me."

"Then we need to figure out a way to persuade him to tell us, one way or another," she said. A nugget of an idea began to form. "Or maybe we can use him to get to Benoit ourselves." Turning to Dmitri, she asked, "Can you contact him and arrange for us to meet him?"

"I can contact him, yes. I have only done so for business, however. He will grow suspicious if I contact him for a purely social reason."

"Then we meet him for business," Casey interjected. "What does Zuyev traffic in?"

"Weapons and ammunition," Stephen said. "At least he used to."

"Yes, he still does," Dmitri replied to Stephen.

Sarah's mind whirred as she took in the faces of the people around her, one-by-one. Scooting to the edge of her seat, her whole body buzzed with excitement when she said, "I have an idea."


	42. Turning Tables

**A/N:** After posting fifty-eight chapters in this universe, I long ago ran out of pithy ways of thanking you for reading, favoriting, following and reviewing. Each chapter is a lot of work and I'm always grateful to receive feedback. Please, keep it coming.

You know who else works really hard on each chapter? That's right. **AgentInWaiting**. As always, thank you, sir.

Disclaimer: Although the Bartowskis have been visiting real places and settings, the name of the Moscow establishment in this chapter has been changed to protect the innocent.

**Chapter 42 – Turning Tables**

If someone had told Sarah yesterday that in twenty-four hours she would be sitting in the living room of their Moscow vacation apartment chatting with Chuck's parents, she would have assumed that person was on some sort of hallucinogenic. And yet there she sat with her previously believed to be dead in-laws, their Russian friend, her husband and her partner, all focused on one objective: obtaining intel on the secret whereabouts of money launderer, gun runner, drug trafficker, black marketeer and all around bad guy, Henri Benoit. Once he was either dead or in custody, Chuck's parents would be no longer have to remain in hiding and could return to a normal life.

Ironically, it was Mary and Stephen's friend, Dmitri Brusilov—a current employee of Benoit _and_ the man who had kidnapped Sarah and Casey in Prague—who had provided them with the first real break in their search for Benoit. Dmitri knew of a close friend and business associate of Benoit's, Pavel Zuyev, who was as likely as anyone to know the Frenchman's undisclosed location.

It had already been established that Dmitri would be able to contact Zuyev with the goal of setting up a meeting if Zuyev didn't right out tell him Benoit's location. When informed that Zuyev would only meet with them if it was business related—his business being weapons and ammunition—Sarah was struck by inspiration. She worked to keep her excitement in check as she sat forward and said, "I have an idea." All attention snapped to her. "Zuyev is a weapons guy, right? We have a weapons expert right here," holding her hand out toward Stephen. "Two actually," looking at Casey. Turning back toward her father-in-law, she continued, "Stephen, Mary mentioned this morning that you're always coming up with new devices, modifications to weapons, things like that. Do you have anything that might interest Benoit and Zuyev?"

"I have a number of things that have schematics but aren't beyond that stage. I do have a prototype of a weapon that's fairly impressive." Stephen dropped his head and looked at the group sheepishly. "I have to confess, though, the idea wasn't mine to start with. I'm working on getting it to operate in real life." He looked at Chuck and a knowing smile quirked up. "I built a blaster."

Chuck bolted straight up in his seat. "You mean like from _Star Wars_? A real life _Star Wars_ blaster?"

Sarah pressed her lips together when Casey rolled his eyes and expelled a loud groan.

"Yes, son, a real life blaster."

Sarah smiled at her husband. The idea of his father developing a weapon like one in _Star Wars_ caused him to literally vibrate.

"He's been working a lightsaber, too," Mary added and smiled when Chuck almost fell off the couch.

Stephen glanced at his wife and said, "That's been more problematic, hasn't it, honey?"

She smiled back at him and nodded.

"Does the blaster work?" Sarah asked. "Zuyev might want a demonstration before he'd tell us where we could meet Benoit."

Chuck seemed to have gotten a handle on his excitement. Nodding, he added, "He'd want proof that it works and isn't a toy."

"In that case, you probably shouldn't call it a blaster," Casey said. "Otherwise, he'll tell you to jump in a lake. I would."

"You have a point," Stephen said. After a moment's thought, he asked, "How does 'focused high-energy particle beam weapon' sound?"

Chuck looked to Sarah who shrugged and then at his father. "Sounds good to me."

"Better than ray gun," Casey grumbled.

"Where did you get the parts, Dad?"

"Salvage shops, electronic stores, places like that. Our friends and neighbors know I'm a retired scientist and still like to tinker around, so it's not that strange for me to be hunting around for strange odds and ends."

"People think he's a little eccentric," Mary added. "No one pays any attention to the things he picks up."

"To answer Sarah's question," Stephen said, circling back, "yes, it does work, but it'll only fire once. I haven't worked out all the kinks to where it can shoot repeatedly."

"It may not even come to it, but if it does, let's hope once is enough," Sarah replied.

"That is if you get a meeting with Zuyev at all," Dmitri reminded them.

"True," Sarah said. "Here's the plan. Dmitri calls Zuyev and tells him an American who has a new weapons technology he wants to sell to Henri Benoit has contacted him. Since Dmitri doesn't know how to get in contact with him, he's calling Zuyev for help."

"Zuyev can respond in a number of different ways," Mary said, following along with Sarah's train of thought. "He can tell Dmitri how to contact Benoit directly, which we all know is highly unlikely. He can tell him he's not interested and hang up on him, which is also unlikely. I don't think Zuyev would do that since Dmitri is Benoit's guy. He could put Dmitri off and say he'll check with Benoit himself, but if we put some kind of time limit on the offer, that takes away that option. That leaves us with him agreeing to a meet to show off the weapon and then persuading him to tell you how to meet up with Benoit somewhere."

"You forgot one," Chuck said. "He doesn't answer his phone."

Everyone but Dmitri groaned at the prospect of that option. "I do not think that will happen," he said. "Zuyev has always answered when I call."

"Can you do this for us, Dmitri?" Mary asked. "You've already done so much for us over the years, we're sorry to ask for your help again."

He waved Mary's concerns off with a flick of his hand. "Your son, his wife and your seven grandchildren are here with you now because I helped you years ago. I cannot tell you how happy and proud I am to know that. Of course I will help you in any way I can."

Sarah breathed a silent, thankful sigh.

"Have we covered everything?" Stephen asked. "Do you have any questions, Dmitri?"

"No. I know what I must do." He retrieved his phone from his pocket and held it up. "Shall I call him?"

The rest of the group wordlessly consulted each other. When there were no objections, he placed the call.

The room fell silent and time seemed to suspend as they waited. In the stillness, Sarah could hear the faint tone from Dmitri's phone indicating that Zuyev's phone was ringing. Each buzz was excruciating as they waited for the phone to be answered. After the fourth ring, a man's voice came through the earpiece.

Held breaths were quietly released as Dmitri began to speak with Zuyev. After the initial greetings and pleasantries where Dmitri asked about the wellbeing of Zuyev's family, he smoothly transitioned to the issue at hand. He told the other man about the American who wanted to meet Benoit to sell him an advanced weapons technology, explained to him what the weapon was and asked how to contact Benoit. As Sarah listened to Dmitri's side of the conversation, it was clear, just as he had suspected, Zuyev was unwilling to give him that information. Dmitri then asked for a meeting between himself, Zuyev and the American to show him the weapon. When Dmitri's eyebrows rose in question and he said, "Tonight?" in Russian, Sarah quietly translated his question for Chuck and Casey. After silent consultation, all heads nodded and Dmitri accepted the offer to meet that evening. The time and place where the meeting was to take place was agreed upon and after thanking Zuyev again, Dmitri rang off.

"We will meet him tonight at midnight at Chelsea Rooms," Dmitri informed them.

"Pavel always did like to party," Mary said to Stephen.

"What?" Chuck asked, concern coloring his tone.

"It's one of the most exclusive nightclubs in Moscow," Stephen said. "Many of the _novi ruski_, the rich oligarchs like Zuyev, like to go to clubs to flaunt their wealth. It's almost like a sport, always trying to outspend each other. One has a Ferrari, the next wears a Rolex that costs the same as a Ferrari. One drives a gold-plated Porsche, another buys a pure gold mattress for his dog."

Dmitri nodded. "Chelsea Rooms only admits the most beautiful and powerful people. Of course, using Zuyev's name should gain entrance for us without any problems, but we will need to look like we belong there."

Sarah thought about the wardrobe she had with her and knew immediately she had nothing appropriate to wear. She wasn't going to wear the Chanel dress she'd bought in Amsterdam since it was too classy and it was really for her husband anyway. Looking at the major, she was positive Casey was in the same boat and said, "We need to go shopping."

"What about me?" Chuck asked. "I take it Casey is the American weapons guy. What am I going to do?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but you're not going to be there. Dmitri will be, of course, I'll be Casey's escort and Barstow will be Casey's 'bodyguard.' We have all the bases covered."

"But the last time you and Casey went on a mission alone together, you were kidnapped," he pointed out.

At the sudden mortification on Mary, Stephen and Dmitri's faces, Chuck slapped his forehead and groaned. "Oops. Sorry."

"Way to twist the knife, Bartowski," Casey said with a snort.

Stephen was the first to recover. "We promise not to have Sarah and Casey kidnapped this time, Charles."

"We all appreciate that, Stephen," Sarah said with a teasing smile.

"Who will run comms?" Chuck said, focusing back on the mission specs. "Me, right?"

"No, Vegas will run comms," Sarah answered.

Chuck looked at her, clearly confused. "Who stays here on protection detail then?"

"We have a couple of agents right here who I trust will do whatever it takes to protect you and the kids." Sarah's gaze traveled from Chuck's eyes to his mom's. "They always have."

~ O ~

The family's last day of sightseeing was scrapped when they realized they really couldn't take the risk of being seen cruising around Moscow with Mary and Stephen. It turned out that the kids were just as happy to stay at the apartments and hang out with their grandparents anyway. Plus, there was suddenly a significant amount of preparation that had to be done for the mission later that night.

Sarah called and informed Graham of the impending mission to meet with one of Benoit's closest associates. She left out the fact that they had found Frost and Orion, alive and well and hiding out in Moscow. That information would need to remain secret from the rest of the world for the time being, perhaps forever. Graham was happy to hear of their progress and offered to obtain for the team any resources they required.

Casey, however, looked less than happy when he was forced to go shopping with Sarah, Lizzie and Bridget in one of the most expensive shopping areas in Moscow, _Tretyakovsky Proezd_ or Tretyakov Drive. The short street not far from Red Square was lined with the most famous and exclusive showrooms and boutiques in the world. Bridget, of course, was in her element. She was obviously thrilled not only to get to find clothes once again for her aunt, but to be able to dress Casey in something other than a polo shirt and jeans.

As Sarah expected, Bridget nearly hyperventilated when they arrived outside the Ermenegildo Zegna store. Casey stared at the clothes displayed on the headless mannequins in the window, a disdainful sneer on his face. Sarah followed his eyes to where he glared at a shiny teal blue silk suit with a blue, white and black shirt under it. "I'd look like a pi—" He stopped and cut his eyes at Bridget while Sarah and Lizzie turned their snorts into coughs. "I'd look like an idiot in that." When his gaze fell on the accessory the mannequin held in its hand, he drew to his full height and growled, "I'd rather lose a limb than carry a man purse."

Bridget took his hand and tugged him toward the front door. "Don't worry, Uncle Casey. I'm not going to make you buy a man purse. And I'm sure they have suits here that are more your style."

Sarah trailed into the store behind her partner, his head bowed and dragging his feet in defeat. "Come on, Casey, you're here to buy clothes. It's not the Bataan Death March."

He glowered at her but said nothing. Sarah smiled back at him sweetly. Lizzie, eyes sparkling, clearly loved every minute of seeing the usually fearsome Major John Casey, NSA, looking terribly uncomfortable inside a trendy men's clothing store.

Sarah peeked up at her partner's face and watched the corner of his upper lip lift in a tiny snarl when a young man approached them. He was rather slight in build, and had dark blond hair and a scruffy beard she was sure was highly manicured to look that way. Looking like a walking advertisement for his store, she noted his perfectly put together blue shirt, dark rust colored vest and slim legged trousers of the same color. To complete the ensemble, he wore black loafers and no socks. The young man before them was very stylish. If Casey tried to wear that, he would not look stylish and they all knew it.

The salesman smiled but his eyes were wide when he tilted his head back to look up at Casey towering over him. "Good afternoon. My name is Alexei. How can I help you?" he asked in Russian.

"My friend and I," she said, speaking Russian in reply, "are going to Chelsea Rooms tonight and we'd like to find something appropriate for him to wear." When she noticed the trepidation on his face, she added, "Perhaps we could see some of your more classic suits."

Alexei smiled in relief and said, "Yes, of course. Follow me, please." He led them toward the back of the store, past the racks of clothes Sarah knew Casey would rather die than wear. "He is a big man. It limits our choices," Alexei said over his shoulder. "However, I'm sure we'll be able to find something that will fit him."

"I still don't know why I can't just wear the suit I already packed," Casey grumbled.

"Because it looks like you bought it at a thrift shop in 1994," Bridget answered. "And it's _polyester_." She rolled her eyes and said the last word like she'd have had a higher opinion of his suit if it had been made out of a burlap sack.

"Yeah, well, I can dig it out from the bottom of my duffle and it won't even be wrinkled."

Lizzie giggled and patted him on the back. "Not helping your cause there, Uncle Casey."

"You are Americans, yes?" Alexei asked Sarah in English.

"Yes," Sarah answered.

"Your Russian is very good, but if the rest of your group does not speak it, I will speak English."

"That would certainly make it easier," Sarah replied. "Thank you. And your English is excellent, Alexei."

He made a small bow with his head in acknowledgment. "We have many international clients." They walked a little further and then stepped into what almost looked like the office of a business executive. "Here we are," Alexei announced. The room's walls were rich, warm mahogany wood and the recessed lights in the ceiling glowed in its glossy finish. Two large black leather chairs sat on thick, plush carpet in the middle of the room. Suits were hung with precision in an alcove in the wall. Neatly folded dress shirts were carefully placed in stacked wooden shelves lining another wall. The snarl disappeared from Casey's lip and his obvious discomfort lessened slightly. Whether or not they would find suitable clothing for her partner was still unclear. At least now he seemed less likely to unceremoniously turn on his heel and march out of the store.

Bridget was already wandering around the room, fingering the fabric on the sleeves of the suits while Lizzie stood in front of and pondered a mannequin in a gray double-breasted suit. Bridget walked over, stood next to her sister, crossed her arms and tilted her head as she scrutinized the clothing. "No," they said simultaneously.

Alexei took three suits from a rack and carried them into a changing room. "Unfortunately, those are the only three suits I believe will fit you, sir." He moved to where the dress shirts were displayed. After scanning them, he lifted one from the shelf and unfolded it. He looked at Casey. "I believe this shirt would work well with any of the three suits I have found for you to try on."

Casey heaved a defeated sigh, trudged into the dressing room and shut the door.

Lizzie sunk down in one of the chairs while Bridget and Sarah squeezed into the other.

"Alexei didn't even ask what size Uncle Casey wore," Bridget whispered to Sarah. "Do you think the clothes will fit?"

"I think so. He does this for a living and salespeople get good at guessing people's sizes."

After a minute of waiting while Casey changed, they heard him grumble from behind the door, "Do I have to come out?"

"Yes, Uncle Casey, you have to come out," Bridget said patiently.

The door opened and a self-conscious Casey walked out into the center of the room. He wore a dark blue pinstriped suit with a gray and white striped dress shirt. The collar was open and he still sported his white gym socks.

"Wow!" Lizzie exclaimed. "You look fantastic!"

Casey scowled. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, she's right," Sarah said. "You look great. Very handsome." She looked over at Alexei. "Nice fit."

He smiled and dipped his head at the compliment.

Bridget got up from her chair and circled around the big man. "Really nice." She tugged at one of the sleeves of the jacket. "It's a tiny bit short here, but not bad." Buttoning the jacket for him, she patted his belly affectionately and said, "You might need to watch all the pizza we've been eating."

He squinted at her. "These Italian suits are cut smaller."

Bridget smiled indulgently and said, "You're right. They are."

Sarah sneaked a peek at Alexei standing nearby. He was poised to help, but seemed happy to stand by and watch Bridget.

Looking down at the major's feet, Bridget said, "The white socks have _got_ to go."

"I'll wear the right kind of socks," Casey groused. He pulled an unhappy face and asked, "Do I have to wear a tie?" He sounded a little like a kid getting ready to go to a relative's wedding.

"Alexei, what's your opinion on that?" Sarah asked.

"I do not think it is necessary at a club. The suit still makes you look distinguished, but the open collar gives it a more casual look."

"I agree," Sarah replied, giving Casey the once over.

"Me, too," Lizzie and Bridget added at the same time.

"Okay, we got my suit. Can we go?"

"No," Bridget said, rolling her eyes. "You have to try on the other two suits to see if they're better than this one." Sarah bit her lips together at Casey's crestfallen face. "Come on, Uncle Casey," the girl said. "Will you do it for me?"

"Yeah, okay," he grumbled and huffed a sigh.

She grinned as he dragged himself back into the dressing room.

"He's acting like he's gonna die if he has to change his clothes again," Lizzie said, her eyes flashing with amusement. "How does he even _have_ any new clothes? Ever."

Laughing, Sarah said, "I think his mom still buys all his clothes for him. Remember Christmas?"

"Oh, yeah! You're totally right." Lizzie looked over at the door and said, "I bet his mom would fall over if she saw him in that suit. One of these suits probably costs more than he's spent on clothes over the past ten years."

"You're probably right," Sarah answered just as Casey came out of the dressing room in a black suit.

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. "You look like you work at a funeral home."

Wordlessly, he spun around, stalked back into the dressing room and firmly shut the door.

"What'd I say?" the teen said, snickering.

A couple of minutes later, he slowly opened the door and reluctantly skulked out again.

"Shiny!" Bridget cried with a grin.

"I like the blue," Lizzie said. "It matches your eyes."

Her comment only caused his frown to deepen.

"She's right, Casey. It does bring out your eyes," Sarah said, receiving another silent glare in reply. And he was right before. The shiny material did make him look a little like a pimp. "But it doesn't really fit _you_." To Alexei, she said, "We'll take the first one."

By the time they left the store, they were loaded down with bags containing everything Casey needed to wear that evening: suit, shirt, shoes, socks and belt.

"I can't believe how expensive all that stuff was. What a racket," Casey complained as they walked together on the sidewalk. "I could get all this junk for under three hundred dollars at Big & Tall. And a second suit for a buck." Bridget groaned in pain.

"It's for a mission, so you'll get reimbursed," Sarah said, trying to soothe him.

"I still don't see why we had to buy all this high-class crap in the first place."

"Because you're supposed to be a wealthy American weapons dealer. Someone like Zuyev can take one look at your clothes and know if you're an imposter or not. A three thousand dollar suit and a seven hundred dollar pair of shoes should convince him you're as wealthy as you say you are."

"What about you, Aunt Sarah? What do you need to wear?" Bridget asked.

"I need something that will catch Zuyev's attention enough that he won't want to send me away during the business negotiations."

"Women shouldn't be there?" Lizzie asked. "That kind of thing?"

"Exactly. Zuyev may not be like that, but we don't want to take any chances. The advantage we hope to gain with me there is Zuyev won't know I speak Russian. He might let something slip in Russian that he thinks I won't understand."

Lizzie squeaked and clapped her hands. "You can pretend to be Uncle Casey's trophy wife!"

"Something like that," Sarah said with a laugh. For various reasons, she was more likely to be on Casey's arm as his "girlfriend," but she really didn't want to get into the reasons for the distinction with the girls.

"We need something fun and stunning and fabulous," Bridget stated. She headed straight for Gucci, the rest of them following in her wake. Within thirty minutes—during which time Casey never moved from the chair he found—Sarah had a dress, shoes and purse that would be the envy of many an oligarch escort.

When they arrived back at the apartments, they found Stephen sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing Spy Barbie with Martie and Megan. There wasn't a hint of embarrassment in his smile when he looked up at them as Sarah, Lizzie and Bridget walked in on them. If anything, the twinkle in his eye told Sarah he was having the time of his life.

"Grandpa is playing Spy Barbie with us," Martie announced.

"That's fun," Sarah said as she dropped her bags on the couch. "What kind of trouble are Spy Barbie and friends in today?"

Megan looked to her grandfather and said, "Do you want to give them a sitrep or should I?"

"You go ahead." Stephen shot Sarah an amused wink. She sent one back in reply.

Megan nodded sagely and returned her attention to her aunt. "You know the computer in GI Joe's brain? It's kinda broken now and it's making him have bad dreams. So Grandpa said he should wear a special watch to make his head feel better." She held up GI Joe for all to see. He wore a pink Barbie watch on his left wrist. "Joe doesn't have a watch, so we had to use Barbie's."

Sarah had to turn her snicker into a cough when Lizzie whispered from behind, "I hope Joe's secure in his masculinity."

With Sarah still trying to clear her throat, Lizzie asked, "Joe's okay now?"

"Yup! Thanks to Grandpa," Martie said. She was positively beaming. After a pause where she looked past the three, she asked, "Where's Uncle Casey?"

"He went to the Man Cave," Sarah answered. "Where's your grandma?"

"She's next door learning how to play _Call of Duty_ with Uncle Chuck, Uncle Morgan, Fred, Curtis and Lisa," Megan informed her.

"Awesome. The newest member of the Bartowski Family Gamers," Bridget said.

Sarah's eyes fell on the metal briefcase lying on the kitchen table. "I see you and Agent Barstow had a successful trip to your apartment while we were gone," she said to Stephen.

"Yes. I was also able to pick up a few things for Mary and myself for tonight." He gave her a meaningful look. "Let's just say Mary and I are taking our part of the mission tonight very seriously."

Of this, Sarah had no doubt.

~ O ~

Barstow jumped out of the front seat of the Bentley Director Graham had secured for the team's use that evening and opened the back door. Casey, resplendent in his new Italian suit, exited, stood and buttoned his jacket. Sarah slid across the backseat, took Casey's proffered hand and stepped out. Casey certainly had embraced the part of wealthy and powerful American arms dealer. Although she knew he would never admit it, she had seen the flicker of satisfaction on his face when the girls raved about how handsome he looked when he came to the apartment to pick up Sarah. The littlest girls had been allowed to stay up later than usual since for safety's sake— with the rest of the agents on the mission—Chuck, Morgan, all seven kids and their grandparents would be staying in one apartment and having one giant "sleepover." With all the positive remarks he'd received, she was pretty sure they'd see him wear that suit again someday.

Sarah pulled down at the skirt of the short, tight, gray dress made from material that looked a little like chainmail to make sure her knives strapped to her thigh weren't showing. With the dress' straight, low neckline accentuated by black lace straps, she was certain to fit in with the way the rest of the women in the nightclub were dressed. She left the sweater Fred had insisted she bring along to cover her shoulders in the backseat, however. When he saw what she was wearing, the sweet boy had gone into her and Chuck's room, found a wrap and asked her to bring it along. Touched, she'd thanked him and kissed his cheek.

Her blonde hair was down and fell in loose curls over her shoulders. Had she been going out with Chuck for one of their "date nights," she might have gone for a more refined look and put it up. In this case, however, sophistication was the last thing she was going for. Warmth flooded through her when she thought of Chuck running his hand through her hair while giving her a toe-curling kiss just before she left with Casey. He had definitely learned in London what she expected and really knew how to send her off on a mission.

She slipped her hand into the crook of Casey's arm and as Vegas drove the Bentley away, she quickly scanned the area. There were a number of incredibly expensive sports cars parked in front of the building, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, a Bugatti Veyron and even a Koenigsegg. Stephen wasn't kidding about the New Russians liking to show off their wealth.

Dmitri, who had arrived at the nightclub separately and was waiting for them when they arrived, joined them on the sidewalk and the four walked toward the front door of the nightclub. They ignored the long line of people waiting to be approved for admittance and walked straight up to the men attending the door. "Oh, Johnny," Sarah enthused, looking around wide-eyed and grasping his arm. "Isn't this place, like, super glamorous?"

She'd warned Casey she was going to be a little "air-heady," but even so, he still seemed a bit stunned by her affectations. "Uh, yeah," he managed.

One of the men glanced up at them. He pointed first at Sarah and then to Barstow, standing mutely behind the other three, metal briefcase in hand. In Russian, he said, "You and you can go in. You two, back of the line."

Undeterred, Dmitri spoke up. "We are here at the invitation of Mr. Zuyev. This is Mr. John Anderson. Mr. Zuyev is expecting us."

That got the Gatekeeper's attention, but still didn't gain admittance. "One moment," he said. Continuing to eye them suspiciously, he mumbled into his earpiece, much like the ones Dmitri, Sarah, Casey and Barstow currently wore, and asked someone named Yuri to obtain confirmation from Zuyev.

"What's the hold up?" Sarah pouted to Dmitri in English after about a minute of waiting.

"They are checking with Mr. Zuyev to make sure we are indeed his guests."

"Of course we're his guests. We wouldn't lie, would we Johnny?" she huffed and looked up at Casey. She wanted to giggle at the vaguely mortified look on her partner's face, but managed to suppress it. It was fun tweaking him while at the same time firmly establishing themselves as non-Russian speaking Americans.

The Gatekeeper cocked his head, obviously listening to the answer. He nodded and then to Dmitri, he said, "Welcome to Chelsea Rooms. Mr. Zuyev is in the bar on the third floor."

When the bouncers didn't check her purse or the briefcase Barstow carried, she assumed it was because they weren't simply clubbers out for a good time and the management didn't want to be seen as harassing Zuyev's guests. It didn't really matter since they wouldn't have found her secreted Smith & Wesson with a visual search anyway. The blaster in the briefcase would have been another matter, though.

They entered the building and were immediately assailed by loud techno music thumping in the large, darkened room. True to its name of Disco Room, it certainly was a disco, down to the large spinning mirrored balls suspended from the ceiling, white strobes and green and blue "lasers" flashing around the room. Beautiful people in chic, trendy clothes moved to the beat on the packed dance floor as the four skirted the edge. Go-go dancers, inexplicably dressed in racy wedding dresses—sometimes a lot less and complete with bridal veils—danced on the front stage and elevated perches set up around the room.

"Caligula would feel right at home here," Casey growled loudly, turning away from two of the writhing "brides."

"Maybe it'll be a little more sedate upstairs," she answered in an equally loud voice over the pounding music.

They wove their way single file through the throng of people lining the bar on one side and those streaming on and off the dance floor on the other. Once on the other side of the room, they stepped up the wide, sweeping staircase that took them to the restaurant of the establishment. As she suspected would be the case, the second floor was much quieter and less frenetic in pace. They climbed the stairs to the third floor and stepped into another bar. While the one on the first floor was loud and trendy and teeming with an air of desperation, this bar was elegant and sedate. The main bar was made of onyx and tan leather booths around marble tables lined the walls of the room. However, the sills of the tall windows that looked out over the Moscow River contained a go-go dancer in each, taking away from the overall class of the room.

For a Monday night, the place was surprisingly busy. Sarah figured it being summer had a lot to do with it. Dmitri searched the room and his gaze fell on a man Sarah judged to be in his late forties or early fifties sitting in a booth and surrounded by three beautiful young women. He had an arm across the shoulders of one of the women while he leaned over and whispered into the ear of his companion seated next to him on his other side. The woman giggled and the man leaned back with a satisfied smirk on his face and stuck a cigar back in his mouth.

"That is Zuyev there with the three young ladies," Dmitri said.

Sarah involuntarily shuddered. "Charming," she deadpanned.

Dmitri snorted. "Yes, although he is married, he sees himself as a ladies' man."

"Ready people?" Casey asked. When he received affirmations from everyone, he said, "Let's do this."

Dmitri led them toward the oligarch's table. As they approached, a very large, very intimidating man suddenly appeared from nowhere and stood between them and Zuyev, blocking their way. Dmitri stopped, but before he could say anything Zuyev said, "Dmitri! I've been expecting you. Sergei, let them pass."

Given the go ahead, Sergei stepped to the side while Zuyev dismissed his three companions. They slid out of the booth and pouted as they picked up their champagne glasses and said their goodbyes to Zuyev. Sarah figured they were probably more upset about losing their access to free booze rather than anything else. As the three women passed, each gave Sarah a haughty stare. She wanted to roll her eyes, but instead went into mission mode. Grinning at them, she said, "Hi, girls. Y'all are so pretty."

They seemed stunned that she spoke to them and even more so in English. She had no idea if they understood her or not. It didn't matter. That had been for Zuyev's benefit.

As they stood in front of the table, the Russian's gaze slowly dragged up and down Sarah's body. He kept his eyes on Sarah's face when he said in English, "Dmitri, introduce me to your friends."

"Yes, of course. This is John Anderson and his companion, Sarah."

"Sarah," Zuyev said smoothly. "What a pretty name. Please, come sit by me."

She forced her smile to widen and giggled as she slid into the booth next to him. "Okay, Mr. Zuyev."

"Please, call me Pavel." He scooted closer to her when she stopped an appropriate distance from him. His smile was almost too perfect, his teeth too white to the point where they nearly glowed in the dim light. His light brown hair was cut short and stylish and he was impeccably dressed. As he leaned closer to her, the overpowering smell of his cologne mixed with the cigar smoke billowing around him nearly made her gag.

"Okay, Pavel," she said.

Zuyev completely ignored Dmitri when he sat down next to him in the booth. He did, however, flick his gaze at Casey when he took his place next to Sarah. Barstow, still with the case in his hand, stood a discreet distance away.

Returning his eyes to Sarah's face, he said, "I was not looking forward to a dreary business meeting tonight. Now I am glad of it." To Casey he said, "You are lucky I was able to meet you tonight. I return to my _dacha_ tomorrow."

"I'm glad," Casey said noncommittally.

"What's a _dacha_?" Sarah asked, feigning ignorance.

"It is my country home. It is large and impressive… like other things I have." He leaned closer and dropped his voice. "It has an indoor swimming pool."

Her eyes widened. "Wow," she breathed. It sounded nothing like the traditional modest vacation homes she knew people used to get away from the city during the summer and on weekends. This didn't really surprise her. "I like to swim."

Zuyev grinned. "Perhaps you come with me to my _dacha_ for a swim." He gave Sarah's body another leer. "I have nice things you could wear."

The idea made her cringe inside, but she smiled and shrugged a shoulder.

Zuyev grew serious and looked over at Casey. "Before we continue any further, I must make sure Mr. Anderson and I understand each other. I assume you and your friend are armed, yes?"

Casey held his gaze but said nothing.

"I, too, am armed." He opened the front of his jacket to reveal a gold-plated Colt 1911 with a pearl grip tucked into his waistband. Flashing his white teeth in a disarming smile, he said, "We are both gentlemen, no? I do not wish to offend you by asking for your weapon while we talk."

Casey remained silent.

"Sergei is armed as well." He raised an eyebrow. "I am sure you understand the concept of 'mutually assured destruction.'"

"Yeah," Casey replied. "I understand."

"Excellent. Now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, what would you like to drink?" he asked, returning his attention to Sarah. "Russian vodka? French champagne? Whatever your heart desires."

Sarah wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I don't drink alcohol. I did once and it gave me a terrible headache." She turned to Casey. "But I know Johnny likes Johnnie Walker Black, don't you?" She slapped Casey on the arm and giggled louder. "I just got that! Johnny likes Johnnie."

"Yeah," he grunted. He tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace, which made her laugh for real.

"I know what to order for you, Sarah," Pavel said. "They make excellent kefir smoothies."

"Oh, I love smoothies," she cooed. "How did you know?"

Zuyev raised a hand and immediately a scantily clad waitress appeared. He ordered a bottle of whiskey for Casey, a bottle of vodka and two glasses for Dmitri and himself and a smoothie for Sarah. When the woman walked off, he said to Casey, "I understand from Dmitri that you wish to meet with Henri Benoit and sell him a new kind of firearm. Before I bother him with this, I would like to know more about this particle beam weapon."

"It's different than anything out there. It's revolutionary, really. Instead of bullets, it shoots intense particle beams."

Zuyev was clearly dubious. "What is the advantage of that? You shoot someone one way or another."

"For one thing, you can change the settings on how powerful the beam will be. You can shoot a pulse that will only stun the person you're shooting at. Crank it up and you can blow a hole right through them."

Stephen had briefed Casey and her as to what the blaster would do if he ever perfected it. Casey wasn't making things up, but the prototype in the case couldn't do what he said it could. Stephen explained that his development of the weapon was merely an intellectual exercise to keep his hands and mind busy during his and Mary's exile. He had never developed it for use in the real world and would only agree to have it be used now as bait.

Zuyev waved his hand dismissively. "I simply use a bigger caliber if I want to blow a big hole in someone."

Casey was about to address his point when the waitress returned with their drinks. Once the bottles and glasses were set on the table, the waitress moved away and Zuyev poured a glass of whiskey for Casey and then vodka for himself and Dmitri. They raised their glasses and he toasted, "_Za vas_!" The Russians each downed their vodka shots in one gulp while Casey sipped his whiskey.

Sarah took a small, tentative taste of the smoothie, afraid that it might be spiked. She was relieved to find it was alcohol free and that it was actually quite tasty. She hadn't been a fan of kefir when she lived in St. Petersburg—she found it to be pretty sour—but when doctored with honey as it was in this smoothie, it wasn't bad.

Now that a toast had been made and drinks consumed, Casey worked back to the topic. "This weapon allows you to basically change caliber without changing guns. Plus, your bullet is going to bounce off a tank. At a high enough setting, my weapon will do some serious damage to anything. Tanks, cars, buildings."

That caught Zuyev's attention and a little bit of vodka splashed onto the table as he poured and then downed another shot. "Interesting. And the ammunition?"

"There's a replaceable power pack. It'll shoot off a hundred times more rounds than the highest capacity magazine before it runs out of juice."

_Now_ he was making stuff up, but it didn't matter. All they needed was for Zuyev to be sold on the idea enough to let them take it to Benoit.

Zuyev looked over at the unmoving Barstow, still standing nearby with the case in his hand. "You have one here?"

"Yeah. I'll show it to you, if you want to see it. But I'll only do a demonstration for Benoit. He's the guy I need to talk to. He has connections to every group out there that might want to buy these and he has the dough to help me start mass manufacturing. With enough R & D money, we can start developing all different sizes of weapons, from pistols to cannons." He took another sip of his drink and gave Zuyev a hard stare. Sarah noticed how much Casey was really getting into it. "Dmitri knows this is gold and wants his boss in on this at the ground floor. He told me you were the guy to help." Like a used car salesman trying to close the deal, Casey asked, "When can we meet with Benoit?"

Sarah felt the tension ratchet up as they waited for Zuyev's reply. He took his time filling his shot glass again. She took another small sip of her drink to give herself something to do.

After downing another shot, Zuyev announced, "I will not introduce you to Benoit."

Devastated, Sarah's stomach dropped. They were so close and yet disappointed again.

Casey's eyes snapped with frustration. "Why not?"

"Because we do not need Benoit. I will be your benefactor."

They knew that Zuyev wanting to go it alone was a possible outcome, so Dmitri jumped in. "Benoit will not be happy with you when he finds out you have cut him out," he said angrily in Russian. "You do not hold your life and the lives of your family dear."

Zuyev snorted derisively and drank another vodka. "I do not fear Benoit," he replied in his native language. "He is growing old and in hiding. He is no longer the feared man he once was. He is like a toothless lion. He has a loud roar but no bite."

Dmitri slumped against the back cushion of the booth. "I cannot believe you are saying these things about a man who is like your brother."

"I appreciate the loyalty you show to Benoit. But it is time for me to look out for myself and grow my empire ever bigger. This weapon will allow me to become one of the most powerful men in the world."

Sarah wondered if they had badly overestimated Benoit's power or if Zuyev was delusional. Based on the slightly crazed look in his eyes and the fact that she expected him to break out into a maniacal laugh at any second, she had the feeling Zuyev was indeed delusional. And drunk.

"I cannot allow it," Dmitri said. "I cannot let you put your family at risk. Tell me where he is and I will bring these people to him myself. Benoit never has to know what you said about him."

Sarah held her breath. Would Zuyev let slip where Benoit was in his quasi-inebriated state?

Zuyev's face set and he raised his chin in defiance. "No. I do not care if he knows. I do not fear him." The Russian's eyes snapped boldly at Dmitri.

Sarah knew they'd reached a dead end. Zuyev wasn't going to deliver up Benoit. She wasn't going to give up yet, though. She sat right next to a man who was a key to setting her family free. It was time for her to end this. It was time for her to act.

"Dmitri, can you tell Johnny what you and Pavel were talking about while I speak to him for a minute?" she said. She used her sweetest voice to try to break the tension.

It worked and the two men visibly relaxed. Zuyev seemed to forget the argument altogether when Sarah scooted closer to him. As Casey and Dmitri talked across the table, Sarah lowered her voice and said in Zuyev's ear, "I don't know what you two were arguing about, but I gotta say, you looked and sounded like a real powerful, take charge kind of guy." She gave him a coy glance. "I like that in a man."

A lascivious smile broke on his face. "This makes me happy to know."

She moved even closer to him and whispered, "I'm going to go use the ladies' room. Maybe I'll run into you on the way back and we can find a nice quiet corner where we can… talk." It was a miracle she managed to get the words out while barely being able to breath from all the smells.

"I have my own personal, what you Americans call, bathroom. My man Sergei will take you to it and I will meet you there in a few minutes." He made a production of looking at his gold and diamond encrusted Rolex watch. Knowing it was supposed to impress her, she made the appropriate "oo-ing" and "ah-ing" noises. "I had the owner of the club build a shower large enough that it can accommodate four people."

Bile burned at the back of her throat. "Can't wait," she said, managing not to retch.

She grabbed her purse and said to Casey, "Johnny, I'm going to go to the powder room. I'll be back soon."

He squinted at her and stood letting her out of the booth. "Okay."

Zuyev held up his hand and snapped his fingers. Once he got Sergei the bodyguard's attention, he pointed at Sarah and then at a hallway at the end of the room. Sergei nodded and walked off toward the hallway with Sarah following behind him. They reached a door with brass plaque attached to the door with the Russian word for "private" etched on it. The bodyguard slipped a key in the lock, turned the knob and opened the door. He held out his hand, wordlessly inviting her to enter the room.

He stood there as if he was going to wait with her. That was unacceptable. "I hope you'll give me a minute to myself," she said in English. "I really do need to use the toilet."

Sergei shrugged and stared at her uncomprehendingly. She heaved a sigh, touched her finger to her sternum and then pointed at the toilet. In a loud voice she said, "I gotta pee!" For an instant, she was reminded of Megan yelling something similar when Sarah and Casey saved Chuck from Daniel Shaw's bomb.

Understanding dawned on Sergei's face. With an embarrassed smile, he nodded, stepped out of the room and closed the door.

Now that she was alone, she quickly surveyed the room. It actually was a very nice bathroom with a rich, marble floor and walls. Thick plush towels hung on a rack on one wall. A pedestal sink, the bowl of which was in the shape of a clamshell and fitted with gold plated fixtures, stood near the toilet. In one corner was Zuyev's pride and joy, the extremely large shower. Sarah stepped closer and peered through the clear glass shower door. Multiple showerheads were fitted into the ceiling and walls so that water would spray from many different directions. The whole thing gave her the creeps. She'd have to tell Casey about Caligula's shower later.

"Walker," her partner said through the earwig. "Zuyev's on his way. What the hell are you doing?"

With clenched fists, she growled, "I'm sick of his crap. He's going to tell me where Benoit is." It wasn't a hope or a wish. It was a statement of fact.

Casey must have heard the resolve in her voice. "Barstow's moved closer to your position. If you need us, say the word and we'll kick their asses."

"Roger that. I'll let you know if I do." She took her Smith & Wesson from its hiding place in her purse and gripped it, waiting for Zuyev to enter the bathroom.

She stood next to the door and when it swung open, her target walked into the center of the room. She waited until it completely closed before she came up from behind and pressed the muzzle of her pistol to the back of his head. "You make one sound and I blow your freaking head off."

He raised his hands in surrender, but then spun quickly and knocked the gun out of her hand. It hadn't even skittered to a stop before she rammed her knee into his groin so hard he doubled over and dropped to the marble floor. Curled into a ball and gurgling in pain, he clutched his injured "family jewels" with both hands. She stepped over to where her gun had come to a rest, picked it up and stood over Zuyev, the pistol pointed once again at his head. When she bent toward him and flipped open the front of his jacket, he recoiled. She rolled her eyes and took his pistol from his waistband.

His eyes were still watering when he opened them and looked up at her. She could tell he was angry and confused. "Who are you? Was all this a ploy to rob me?"

"No, I'm not going to rob you. I don't care about your gaudy crap." She waved her gun, indicating to him she wanted him to move. "Scoot over and give your sink a hug."

Clearly baffled, he scowled at her. "What?"

Her pistol still trained on him, she placed his gun next to her bag on top of the closed toilet seat. She opened the purse and took out a set of plastic handcuffs. "Put your arms around the pedestal of the sink and hold out your hands."

He reluctantly did as he was told and Sarah cinched the handcuffs around his wrists. Now that he sat on the floor and was securely handcuffed to the sink, she marched over to the shower and turned on every water jet. It made an impressive racket.

"Don't need anyone knowing what we're talking about." She towered over him and aimed her gun at him again. "Answer one question, truthfully, and I walk out of here. You stay in one piece and you'll never see me again."

He squinted at her. "What is your question?"

"Where is Henri Benoit?" Her voice was deep and dangerous.

Frowning, he answered, "I already told you I will not tell any of you. I will be the bank behind the new weapon."

"It's not about the weapon," she growled. "I want to know where Benoit is hiding out."

He eyed her defiantly. "I will not tell you."

This guy was impossible. She felt her blood pressure shoot up as her pulse pounded in her ears. "Why not?" she questioned angrily.

"He is like a brother to me."

"Don't give me that crap," she spat. "You were ready to cut him out of the weapons deal ten minutes ago. I thought you weren't afraid of him."

"I am not. I will not tell you simply because you want to know." With a triumphant sneer, he said, "You will not kill me. You cannot get the information you seek from a dead man."

Something snapped inside her. She was sick of it. She was sick of chasing Benoit's shadow. She was sick of the constant danger that hung over her family because of him. She was sick of assholes like Pavel Zuyev who covered for him. She didn't care how she did it, but she was going to find out where he was hiding. This moment was the beginning of the end of Henri Benoit.

A menacing, humorless smile lifted the corners of her lips. "You're right, Pavel. I can't get information from a dead man." She set her Smith & Wesson on the toilet seat next to her purse and Zuyev's gun and slowly sauntered closer. "I have other ways to get the information," she said in a sultry voice.

His eyes glowed as she slowly lifted the hem of her skirt. He licked his lips and a self-satisfied smile formed as she closed in on him. His smile quickly dropped away and fear replaced the smugness in his eyes when she revealed the holster of knives strapped to her thigh.

"The man I love named my knives for me. Wasn't that sweet of him? He did it because he knows how important they are to me. I've been told many times that I have some impressive knife skills."

"Who are you?" Zuyev whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

"It doesn't matter. I told you I only wanted one question answered and you refused." She slowly slid the Nasty Knife from its sheath, knelt in front of him and held it inches away from his face. The blade flashed and gleamed in the light. Beads of perspiration sprang up on his forehead and upper lip. "Dead men can't give information." She drew the edge of the knife along his throat, leaving a red line but not breaking the skin. "Perhaps a man who will have to walk through the rest of his life with scars on his face put there by a _woman_ will." She dragged point of the knife across both of his cheeks, raising the same red welts.

His breathing was ragged, but he remained silent.

She moved the blade so that it hovered over his already injured gentleman's area. "I wonder what all those pretty, young women will think when they find out you've become a eunuch. Word travels fast, you know. I'm not so sure they'll want to hang out with you anymore." When he swallowed hard, her eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm sorry, Pavel. Poor choice of words?"

With a flick of her wrist, the knife flashed and three of the buttons on his dress shirt went flying across the room. He yelped and cried, "You are a crazy woman!"

"I am." Her face turned hard. She wasn't going to play around with this guy anymore. Taking the knife, she slid it under his belt and sliced through the leather like it was nothing more than a wet piece of spaghetti. She grabbed one end of the belt, yanked it out of its loops and tossed it to the side. Just as her knife was about remove the button on his pants, he cried, "Please! Stop! I will tell you. I will tell you what you want to know."

The hardness in her eyes never wavered as she stared at him, waiting.

"He is hiding out on a yacht."

"His yacht? The _El Dorado_?" she asked. When Zuyev hesitated Sarah pointed to the ruined belt on the floor with the tip of her knife. "If I think you're lying, something else of yours is going to join that belt."

"No. He was worried the authorities would know about that one. He bought a different one."

"What's the name of the one he's on now?"

"I do not know. I have not seen it."

"Wrong answer," she growled. He yowled when she removed the button on his pants with another flick of the blade.

"I do not know," he repeated. From the panic in his voice, she figured he was likely telling the truth.

"Where's this yacht he's on?"

"It is in the Mediterranean."

"Lot a water in the Mediterranean, Pavel. You're going to have to be more specific." She used the sharp, pointed tip of the knife to lower the zipper of his pants.

The terror etched on his face told her he believed she would follow through with her threats. "Monte Carlo," he blurted. "He's going to be in Monte Carlo this weekend for high stakes gambling at an exclusive, private room in the casino. The event has been scheduled for months, well before he went into hiding. He is a friend of the head of security at the casino who will help hide his identity. Benoit is sure he will be able to elude the authorities."

"How do you know this?" she demanded.

"I am invited to attend."

She stood suddenly and turned her back to Zuyev. Lowering her voice, she said, "Vegas, did you get that?"

"Yes."

"Call wherever Bauer is and have them ask her if she was supposed to meet Benoit in Monte Carlo this weekend to sell him the software."

"Roger."

She turned back around and slapped the flat side of the blade into the palm of her hand. "I have someone checking out your story. Like I said, you'll regret it if I find out you've lied to me."

He shook his head violently. "I am not lying."

"If what you say turns out to be true, you should go ahead and go to Monte Carlo. But if I find out you tipped off Benoit that someone was asking about him…" She paused and watched him squirm. "Let's just say I'm not the only one you'll have to worry about tracking you down and killing you."

"Wha— What do you mean?" The room was filled with steam now and beads of sweat raced down the sides of his face.

"We'll find out if you're not really afraid of Benoit."

A little of his bravado returned. "If I warn him, he will not go to Monte Carlo and you will still not know where he is. You will never be able to tell him anything I said."

"Perhaps. I'm sure Benoit's loyal employee, Dmitri, could figure out a way to get him a message and let him know what you said. How you tried to squeeze him out of the weapons deal."

"I can take care of Dmitri so that he never speaks again," he said, his voice cold and threatening. "Besides, even if you did speak with Benoit, why should he believe the word of a _woman_?" he spat. "He would never believe your word over mine. I am like his brother."

With a mirthless chuckle, she said, "He won't need to listen to me when he can hear your words in your own voice."

Despite the steaminess and growing warmth in the room, all the color drained from his face.

"You got that cued up for me?" she seemed to ask the steam billowing around her.

"Got it," Vegas answered.

She took her earwig out and held it next to Zuyev's ear. "Hit it," she said in a loud voice. She moved her head closer so she could hear, too. Just over the noise of the shower she faintly heard a recording of his voice saying, "I do not fear Benoit. He is growing old and in hiding. He is no longer the feared man he once was. He is like a toothless lion. He has a loud roar but no bite."

Hearing his own words, Zuyev slumped against the wall.

"I'm not sure Mr. Benoit would appreciate your sentiments about him." She crooked up an eyebrow as she stood and replaced her earwig. "Do you?"

"No, I do not." Utterly defeated, he said, "I will not warn him."

"Good choice, Pavel." She brandished the Nasty Knife at him again. "And you and your goons leave Dmitri and his family alone. If I hear you so much as look at him cross-eyed, I'll hunt you down and cut off your naughty bits so fast, you'll be signing soprano before you know what hit you," she said, borrowing one of Casey's threats.

He must have seen the flare of her nostrils and the blue fire raging in her eyes when he shuddered. Clearly convinced that she meant every word she said, he nodded weakly and leaned his head against the wall.

After a couple more minutes, Vegas said in her comm, "I just heard back from the guys holding Bauer. She's still being a royal pain in the ass and not talking, but they said when they mentioned Monte Carlo her face and body language changed and pretty much gave her away. For what it's worth, I think Zuyev's telling the truth."

"I do, too. Thanks." She had the information she'd been searching for. Now it was time to get out while the getting was good. She returned the Nasty Knife to its sheath and tugged her skirt over the holster. Then she shoved Zuyev's Colt into her purse and said sweetly, "Something to remember you by, Pavel." Finally, Smith & Wesson in hand, she stepped over near the shower and shouted in Russian, "Sergei! I talked Pavel into you joining us in the shower!"

The door flew open and Sergei blasted into the center of the room. Apparently the thought of being in a shower with Sarah obscured the fact that she suddenly knew how to speak Russian. He either didn't notice or didn't care. Probably both. He stopped short, however, when he saw his boss on the floor and handcuffed to the sink. He didn't see him for long, though, since Sarah stepped up behind him and clouted him on the back of the head with the butt of her pistol. He dropped like a stone, Sarah wincing when she heard a crack when his head hit the hard floor.

"He'll need to get his skull checked when he wakes up," she said as she lifted Sergei's pistol from the small of his back. Stepping over the unconscious bodyguard, she leaned down and pointed a finger angrily at Zuyev. "You need to be more respectful of women." Then she slapped him hard across the face. "That's from your wife."

Her hand stung as she stood in front of the mirror and wiped off the condensation obscuring her reflection. In the watery stripe she made, she glanced at herself and ran her fingers through her steam-dampened hair. After swiping at the mascara that had smudged under her eyes, she shoved hers and Sergei's pistols into her now extremely heavy and cramped purse.

Facing the door, she stopped for a moment to regain her composure. After a deep breath, she pulled it open, stepped out of the bathroom and strolled back toward where Casey and Dmitri waited. Barstow, who had been stationed near the private bathroom the entire time, followed closely behind her. When she reached the table, she said in a calm voice, "Come on, boys. We got what we came for. Let's get out of here."

~ O ~

Sarah slid her key into the lock, twisted it and opened the door of the apartment just enough to quietly slip through the crack. After closing it, she turned and stood in the dark, trying to see her way to the hallway and to her and Chuck's bedroom. She could barely make out the dark shapes of the furniture. With the boys sleeping in the apartment that night, there was a good chance someone was laid out on the floor and she didn't want to trip over anyone.

She was about to turn the flashlight app on her phone on when a small shaft of light came from the direction of the sofa bed. The beam swept toward her, but thankfully didn't shine directly in her eyes.

Sarah tiptoed toward where the light originated. As she came closer, the beam went vertical and cast a yellow circle on the ceiling. In its glow, she saw Mary's face. She was awake and alert.

Glancing around, Sarah saw Curtis curled up asleep in one of the armchairs and Morgan in the other. She knew he was asleep, too, but with one leg was crossed over the other and the way his arms lay on the armrests, he looked like he had been having a conversation and simply dropped off. There was a blanket-covered lump under the coffee table that she assumed was Fred.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Sarah whispered and glanced at Stephen, on his side with his back to them, also sound asleep.

"I haven't been asleep," Mary replied in an equally quiet whisper. "How did it go?"

"Good. Everyone is back safely and we got intel on Benoit." When she saw Mary's eyes widen, she said, "I'll tell you about it in the morning. We both need to get some sleep."

Mary nodded. "Good night."

"Good night." Sarah slipped of her shoes and carried them with her as she crept toward the hallway. Once she'd successfully navigated the room, the light clicked off behind her. She peeked in on the sleeping girls in both bedrooms and after a trip to the bathroom she slipped into her own bedroom. Expecting it to be dark, the light glowing from the small lamp on Chuck's nightstand surprised her. It was apparent that her husband had tried to stay awake until she returned, but didn't quite make it. It was three in the morning, after all. On his back and obviously asleep, _I, Frankenstein_ lay open and face down on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took.

She softly put her shoes down on the floor, peeled off her dress and secured her knives and the purse still packed with guns. After putting on her nightie, she slid under the covers. The dip of the mattress caused him stir and he squinted and blinked against the light. "Hey, you're back," he rumbled, his voice deep and rusty from sleep. He lifted his head off the pillow and looked at her one-eyed. "Are you okay?"

"Mm-hmm. I'm fine. Everyone is fine."

His head plopped back on his pillow but his eye stayed open. "What about the mission? Did Zuyev help you set up a meeting with Benoit?"

"No, but he did tell us where he is. Well, where he will be soon."

Both eyes flew open and he raised himself up on his elbows. "He did? Really? Where will he be?"

She placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed on him until he lay flat again. "Go back to sleep. We'll talk about it in the morning." She lifted _I, Frankenstein_, off his chest and closed it. Reaching across him, she placed it on his nightstand and turned off the light. After giving him a kiss, she settled in next to him, rolling on her side and returning her hand to his chest. Still craving a closer connection to him she threw her leg over his and tucked her foot between both of his.

His hand drifted under the sheet and settled on her thigh. "Can you at least tell me where he'll be?"

She felt his hand twitch when she answered, "Monte Carlo."


	43. Take the Long Way Home

**A/N:** Welcome back, intrepid readers. This is another lengthy chapter, so I'll try to be brief. (I know you rolled your eyes.) Thank you to all for reading and I give my special thanks to those who have left reviews. You have no idea how much your words encourage me. Thank you.

Thank you, too, to **AgentInWaiting** for powering through yet another monster chapter. Your hard work and dedication is greatly appreciated.

Finally, be sure to check out my blog, chuckvssom dot blogspot dot com. My friend and Chuck fan **ziohenry** took a bunch of photos of Monaco and Monte Carlo for me recently. I posted a few today and will be adding more of his pictures as the chapters roll out. They are stunning. Thank you, Henry!

**Chapter 43 – Take the Long Way Home**

It was the sound of doors opening and closing, giggles and loud whispers that pulled Sarah from sleep the next morning. The familiar morning noises of the kids being up while their uncle and aunt were still snuggled together in bed convinced her it was a lazy Saturday morning at home in Beaver Creek. She inched closer to her husband and heaved a contented sigh. It was only when she heard adult voices mixed in with the kids' did she fully comprehend that they weren't in Colorado, but in Moscow, Russia, and the voices she heard were those of Chuck's parents. The memories of the mission the night before, when she had successfully extracted intel on the whereabouts of Henri Benoit from Pavel Zuyev, began to filter into her consciousness.

Interacting with a piece of human debris like Zuyev served to remind her of how lucky she was to be married to a man who was a loving and faithful husband to her and devoted "father" to their kids. There were a lot of epic jerks in the world and she was eternally grateful for her wonderful code nerd. She burrowed into her husband's side and buried her nose in his neck just below his ear. His warmth and scent was intoxicating and she didn't even try to stop herself from pressing her lips to his skin.

He stirred and a rumble emanated from deep within his chest. "Feeling frisky this morning, Mrs. Bartowski?"

"Mmmmm. I just love you," she murmured. She trailed a lazy finger back and forth over the stubble on his chin.

He put his arm around her shoulders and she moved her head to rest it on his chest. "I love you, too," he said, kissing the side of her head. They stayed that way for a couple of minutes, reveling in simply being with each other.

Suddenly, Chuck growled and his arms tightened around her. His whole body strained against hers. "We're wandering into dangerous territory."

"You afraid your parents are going to walk in on you with a woman in your bed?" she teased. She knew what he was feeling, though, because she felt it, too. The need for him was spreading through her like a lava flow.

His arms didn't lessen their intense embrace even as he chuckled. "I've never had to even consider that before. I can't see how it would be any more awkward than if it was one of the kids that walked in on us if we were… occupied."

"True." Sighing, she asked, "I guess with everyone up, we should get up, too?" She _really_ didn't want to do that and was pleased when Chuck snarled, "No," and clung to her possessively.

"No one knows we're awake," Sarah ventured.

"And with my parents here, the kids are certainly being taken care of."

"And the door has a lock."

"And the door has a lock," he repeated. He released her and she sprang out of bed, tiptoed to the door and stealthily turned the lock on the knob. It was all so exciting and daring and risky and dangerous and thrilling and she couldn't stop the wide grin and giggle that bubbled up when she launched herself at him.

With the rest of occupants of the apartment up and around, the potential for Chuck and Sarah's activities behind their locked door being discovered only heightened the excitement and their desire for each other. Uncontrolled, their kisses were passionate and their hands freely explored as neither could get enough of the other. When they became one, it was—in a word—mind-blowing.

Sweaty and panting, endorphins raced through her entire body as it tingled and buzzed. "I'm suddenly very aware of my teeth," she said, her hand resting on her forehead. She'd never felt anything like it before. She didn't know how it was possible, but that part of their relationship only got better and better.

"I'll take that as a win," Chuck replied, as she heard him suck in a lungful of air. "And FYI, you'll be glad to know the fireworks are beginning to clear from my vision."

With a small smile, she said, "I'll take that as a win."

It took some time, but once their ability to move their extremities returned, they got up, threw on some clothes and went to find the kids. Some sat at the kitchen table, the rest sat in the living room with plates in their laps. The kids teased and chatted between bites, happily munching away at their food. "You all are up early this morning," Sarah said.

"Good morning, Uncle Chuck and Aunt Sarah!" Megan called out when she saw them. "Grandma and Grandpa made breakfast for us again."

"That's great, Miss Megan," Chuck answered with a smile first at her and then at his parents. "Grandma and Grandpa are spoiling you."

His parents both shrugged and smiled unapologetically. "It's our job," Mary said.

Sarah glanced over at the plate on the table in front of Martie. "Blini?"

Her mouth stuffed, the little girl could only shake her head.

From the couch, Fred said, "They made us pancakes like we have at home."

"And sausage," Lisa added.

"Would you two like some?" Stephen asked. "You both look like you could use a good breakfast."

"That'd be great, Dad," Chuck replied. "I'm starving."

Lizzie snorted from where she sat in one of the armchairs. Sliding her gaze toward her eldest, Sarah saw a smile twitch on the teen's lips while her lowered eyes remained on the food on her plate. Had she and Chuck not been as clandestine during their morning "workout" as she thought? Sarah rapidly scrutinized the faces of the rest of the kids and Chuck's parents. She saw no hint of embarrassment or trouble, so she chalked it up to Lizzie's uncanny ability to sense things. Like Sarah had said to her the day before, she was too smart for her own good. Deciding to make Lizzie's morning, Sarah breezily declared, "Thank you, Stephen. I'm starving, too. I could use some carbs."

She bit her lower lip between her teeth when the teen sputtered into her glass of juice. Coughing, she put her napkin to her mouth and shot her aunt a wide-eyed look. Sarah gave her a sly wink, which made Lizzie alternate between coughing and laughing.

Concern colored Mary voice when she asked, "Lizzie, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she croaked, wiping her eyes. After clearing her throat, she added, "Went down the wrong pipe." Convinced she was all right, Mary turned away. When Sarah glanced at her again, Lizzie rolled her eyes. This time, Sarah sent her a mischievous smile.

She left Lizzie, still smiling and shaking her head, and went into the crowded kitchen. Scooting past Stephen flipping pancakes in a large pan on the stove, she dropped teabags in two mugs and poured hot water over them. She snuck behind Stephen again, went to Chuck and handed him one of the mugs.

"Aunt Sarah," Megan called out. She sported an orange juice mustache as she carefully set her glass down on the table with both hands. "Did you catch any bad guys last night?"

Sarah smiled, remembering that this was one of Megan's favorite things to ask after a mission. "Not really. We only went to talk to the bad guy. We didn't go there to arrest him or anything." She did wonder, however, how long he'd remained handcuffed to the sink in his private bathroom.

Finished with his breakfast, Curtis got up from the table and carried his plate into the kitchen. "Aunt Sarah, you can sit in my seat. I'm done."

"Thank you, Curtis. That's very sweet," she said and took him up on his offer. He beamed at the compliment while his grandfather gave him a nod of approval.

"Uncle Chuck, sit here," Lisa said, following her brother's lead and rising from her chair.

"Thanks, kiddo."

Now that they were settled in at the table, Megan picked up her inquisition. "Did you get the intel?" Sarah managed to maintain a straight face even with Mary's audible gasp at Megan's phrasing. Stephen, having played Spy Barbie with her and Martie the day before, was fully aware of Megan's spycraft abilities and didn't seem surprised at all by what she asked. From the corner of her eye, Sarah noticed Chuck shake his head ever so slightly in amusement.

"I did."

That caught the attention of all the kids and their attention snapped to her. "You did?" Bridget asked from her place at the table.

"Mm-hmm." Sarah took a sip of her tea as if nothing important was going on.

"Come on, Aunt Sarah. Tell us. What did you find out?" Fred asked.

"You know how we're scheduled to fly home to Colorado today?" In actuality, it was really only in a few hours.

Heads nodded. "We packed up all our stuff last night like you asked," Lisa said.

"We won't be going straight home after all," Sarah said. "Well, once I get approval from my boss for us to finish off what we started, that is."

Curious, the kids looked at each other and then back to Sarah. Cocking her head to one side, Megan asked, "Where are we going?"

"We're going to go capture Henri Benoit once and for all." The room fell completely silent. "In Monte Carlo." She sounded more sure than she really was. Simply going to Monte Carlo and arresting Benoit was far from a done deal. It was likely to be a lot more complicated than that.

Lizzie squealed and the plate on her lap nearly flipped onto the floor. Since she was clearly excited by that news, the rest of the kids wanted to know what the big deal was and launched a barrage of questions at Sarah.

"Monte Carlo is the main city in a little country called Monaco," she answered. "It's on the Mediterranean coast in the south of France."

"It's an area called the French Riviera," Lizzie added. "A lot of really rich and famous people live and hang out there."

Although that wasn't a lot of information, it was still enough to get the kids eagerly chattering away to each other about how their trip wasn't over after all. The reaction from Stephen and Mary, however, was muted and restrained. Sarah caught the furtive glance they gave each other as Stephen deposited pancakes on the plates Mary held in each hand. As Mary placed their breakfasts in front of them, Lisa asked, "Uncle Chuck? Can we use your laptop to see what Monte Carlo looks like?"

"Sure. It's on top of my suitcase."

She scampered down the hall and returned a few seconds later with the computer securely under her arm. The laptop worked like a magnet. The minute Lisa set it on the coffee table and sat down behind it, the rest of the kids crammed in beside her and soon all seven were peering intently at the screen talking in awed, hushed tones, definitely impressed.

Chuck's parents took the two chairs at the table opposite Chuck and Sarah. By the grimness evident on their faces, it was obvious they weren't happy with the recent announcement. Mary rested her clasped hands on the table in front of her and looked straight first into Sarah's face and then into Chuck's. "We don't think it's a good idea for you and the kids to go with Sarah to try and capture Benoit. It's too dangerous. You should take them home to the States where they and you will be safe."

It felt like a boulder had crashed into Sarah's stomach.

"No," Chuck said without hesitation. He picked up his fork, cut into his pancakes and shoveled a forkful into his mouth.

"No?" Mary asked, clearly stunned that he'd shut down the conversation so quickly.

"No. I won't back to the States without Sarah. Besides, I want to be there when Benoit's taken down after the grief he's caused my family." Mary opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hand to stop her. "Look, Mom, I'm grateful for what you and Dad did to keep Ellie and Devon and the kids and me safe. I understand the incredible sacrifices you've made for us and I appreciate them." He glanced at Sarah and then at his mom again. "We both do."

"Fine," Mary said. "You stay with Sarah and send the kids home."

Sarah watched Chuck swallow hard and glance down at his plate. He paused as if screwing up his courage. When he spoke again, his voice was firm and resolute. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you were willing to be separated from your spouse and kids." He raised his gaze to look at his mother. "I'm not willing to be separated from mine. Not if I can help it anyway. And if Sarah thinks it's safe for all of us to stay together then we will. I trust her."

Sarah unclasped her hands resting on her lap, reached over and gently placed one on Chuck's thigh. He dropped his hand on top of hers and laced their fingers together.

The four adults had been so locked in on each other they didn't notice when Lizzie approached the table. Pulling out a chair, she sat down on the edge of the seat, ramrod straight. "I heard what you were talking about." Her jaw was set and her voice was certain. The look she gave her grandmother was respectful but nevertheless undaunted. "Even if Uncle Chuck and Aunt Sarah tried to send us back to the States, we wouldn't go. We stay together. We go where they go. Period."

Mary shook her head. "I understand what you're saying, Lizzie, but the world is a dangerous place and—"

"We know all about how dangerous the world is, Grandma," Lizzie replied, not backing down. "Our parents were killed by a drunk driver five years ago. A year ago, our uncle was kidnapped by a bad guy who threatened to blow him up. Our aunt was taken from us for a time just last week."

Fred appeared behind Lizzie and rested his hand on the back of her chair. His face was serious when he said, "Lizzie's right. If anything, the stuff she just said proves we need to stick together. We save each other. We're Bartowskis and will do anything for family."

Without a word, Megan climbed onto Sarah's lap, grabbed her free hand and pulled at it until her aunt's arm wrapped protectively around her.

Soon, Martie was firmly ensconced on Chuck's lap with Bridget standing behind and between her uncle and aunt, her hands resting on each of their shoulders. Curtis took his place next to where his oldest sister sat.

Lisa was the last to arrive and stood directly behind Sarah. "We're not going anywhere without our parents," she stated evenly. "And they're not going anywhere without us."

Sarah was so overwhelmed by the kids' response, her eyes burned as tears welled. There was no insolence in their gestures and words. Only solidarity.

Stephen placed a hand on Mary's back and her shoulders sagged. "You're right," she sighed. "You should stay together. We always tried to hide everything we did from you, Chuck. We thought we were protecting you. It's hard to change that way of thinking."

"This is a different time, Mom, and we're dealing with different circumstances. We're not judging the choices you made, but please respect ours."

"You're right, Charles," Stephen said. "It's obvious from the children's reaction you should stay together. They need you."

Mary looked directly into Sarah's eyes. "And you need them with you."

"Yes," Sarah said quietly. In Mary's eyes, she saw the other woman's understanding.

"Whatever happens," Lizzie said with finality, "we're all in it together."

~ O ~

Chuck and Sarah walked with Morgan through Terminal D of Sheremetyevo International Airport toward security. Chuck put his hand on his friend's shoulder and said, "I'm sorry you're going home alone, buddy. Are you sure you won't come with us the rest of the way? It's still not too late."

"Nah, man, thanks, but this is the end of the trip for me." He readjusted the strap of his carryon bag on his shoulder. "My bosses are expecting me back in LA and I've already got my flight and everything. With no tournament in Monte Carlo, I've got no reason to go, although, I _am_ pretty bummed that I won't get to see some beautiful French women in bikinis."

"Next time," Chuck said with a smile.

"And hey, thanks for coming with me to the airport and helping me get checked in and through customs and everything."

"You're welcome," Sarah replied. "We were supposed to be with you on this flight, so it's the least we could do to make sure you get on it okay."

The three reached security, bustling with activity, and joined the line.

"We're gonna miss you, buddy," Chuck said. "It won't be the same traveling without you."

"I'm gonna miss you guys, too. It was quite a trip." His eyebrows rose when he said with a slight smile, "Never a dull moment. Sarah, you have a very interesting job."

"I do." Chuckling, she brushed a finger at the hair along the side of her face. "But you know, Morgan, you're the unsung hero in all of this. If it weren't for you and your idea to set up the tournaments, none of this would have ever happened and we would have never found Chuck's parents."

"She's right," Chuck said with a grin. "You and your clipboard are heroes."

Morgan beamed at the praise. "It's so awesome you found them. I'm glad I got to be a part of it. Let me know how it all turns out, would you?" He smiled and said, "Maybe you can have Megan call and give me a debrief."

Grinning, Sarah answered, "We'll do that. She'd love it."

They reached the place where Morgan had to go on alone. "Once you get through security, you should be all set," Sarah said. "Do you know which gate you're looking for?"

He nodded, held up his boarding pass and pointed at the number written in Cyrillic.

"Good." She put her finger under a hyphenated word on the paper and said, "That says Los Angeles. Match up the letters on the board at the gate and you'll know you're on the right flight."

He nodded his understanding.

"This is a nonstop flight, so in about fourteen hours from now, you'll be in LA," Chuck added.

After a backslapping hug with Chuck, Morgan said, "Good luck and stay safe."

"Thanks, buddy. Have a good flight."

"Bye, Morgan," Sarah said. Stepping forward, she kissed his cheek and smiled when she noticed he'd pinked. "See you soon."

Just before he disappeared in the crowd, he turned toward them and waved. Both Chuck and Sarah raised their hands in acknowledgement. Then he turned back around and was gone.

Seeing the faint melancholy on Chuck's face, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed it. "You enjoyed spending time with him, didn't you?"

They turned and started toward the train station to catch the next one leaving for central Moscow. "I did, but I didn't spend as much time with him as I think he would have liked."

"Maybe, but I'm sure he understands things are different now that you're married."

"Yeah, you're probably right." He raised their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. With a lighter voice, he asked, "So, what's next? What do we do now?"

"We need to think through all the contingencies and then make plans for how we want to handle the trip to Monte Carlo."

"And Graham is okay with all of us going?"

"He is. Since we've done some pretty impressive work the last three weeks with seven kids along, I get the feeling his attitude is 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.' Besides, I'm pretty sure he's given up on trying to control us." With a shrug, she added, "We were successful in finding out where Benoit is when no one else has. He knows we'll get the job done."

They stepped up to a ticket kiosk and Sarah touched the screen to begin the process of buying their tickets. "That reminds me," Chuck said. "You were pretty vague with the kids on how you got the intel on Benoit's location from Zuyev. You only said he 'cooperated.' Why do I get the feeling it wasn't that easy?"

"You're right, it wasn't. Actually, he wasn't going to give up Benoit's location for any reason." It made her tap her finger harder against the screen when she thought of how obnoxious Zuyev had been.

"How did you get it then?"

"I can be persuasive when necessary."

Chuck snorted. "Oh, I have no doubt of that." He raised an eyebrow. "You threatened him."

She stuck some rubles into the slot to pay for the tickets. "Yes. I got him away from his bodyguard and waved the Nasty Knife around a little."

"A little?" he asked, clearly unconvinced it had been only a little.

She cut her eyes toward him. "Fine. I handcuffed him to a sink and threatened to castrate him."

Chuck's eyes flew open and his head snapped back. "Um, wow. Remind me never to piss you off."

She retrieved the two train tickets the machine spit out and took his hand again. As the two walked toward the platform, she said with a smirk, "That's probably wise." Sobering, she said, "Seriously, though, sweetie, you're incapable of acting the way that vile lowlife did."

"I appreciate your trust in my character." He released her hand and slipped his arm around her. As they walked along, he put his mouth near her ear and said quietly, "So I don't need to be concerned for my, um, man parts?" She heard the humor coloring in his voice.

"Definitely not." Wiggling a single eyebrow, she purred, "I enjoy them too much."

He stumbled a little and his ears turned crimson. Even so, she couldn't miss the pleased smile that pulled at the corners of his lips.

"Besides, Mr. Bartowski, how do we make a baby without them?"

They stopped on the platform and he took her in his arms. He laced his fingers together at the small of her back and his smile widened to a brilliant grin. "Ah ha! So, Mrs. Bartowski, the truth comes out. You only want me for my body."

"Yeah, you've figured me out," she deadpanned.

His grinned softened when his gaze captured hers. Their teasing melted away as his hand came to gently rest on her cheek. The look he gave her made her knees go weak. "Love you," he said and kissed her tenderly.

Despite the rush of passengers disembarking from the train swirling around them like a fog rolling in, they were alone. Sarah heard nothing but her own voice when she softly replied, "I love you more."

~ O ~

It was raining when Chuck and Sarah arrived at the metro station nearest their accommodations. They were both soaked to the skin by the time they made it back to the apartment, having dashed down the street in the steady precipitation.

The gray skies above seemed to mirror the gloominess that hung over of the apartment like a pall. Everyone knew it was their last day in Moscow and therefore the last day with Mary and Stephen. So while Chuck, Sarah, Casey, Barstow and Vegas sat around the kitchen table discussing the upcoming Monte Carlo mission, the rest of the family spent time together watching movies and playing video games. Sarah knew Mary was torn between wanting to be in on the planning for the mission—even if she and Stephen would be staying in Moscow—and enjoying the remaining time they had together with the kids. So she would hang out with the kids most of the time and occasionally listen in on the planning, offering suggestions and giving insights.

Sarah sat with a yellow lined notepad on the table in front of her, her handwriting filling the page with notes regarding the mission and things that needed to be done before they left Moscow for Monte Carlo.

"First off, we need to solve Chuck's and my passport issue," Sarah said, chewing on the end of the pen thoughtfully. "We can't take the chance of Benoit even getting a whiff of the name 'Bartowski.'"

"Why can't we use our passports and just _tell_ people our last names are something else?" Chuck asked. "There's no reason for Benoit to have anyone at French passport control looking for the name Bartowski."

"You're right, Chuck, but entering France and Monaco isn't the problem. It's getting into the casinos. You have to show a passport. Monégasque nationals aren't allowed in."

"So the chance of Benoit hearing the name shoots way up. And Monégasque?" Chuck asked.

"Exactly. And a Monégasque is a person from Monaco."

"Oh, I got that," he said, grinning, "I just think it's awesome you knew that off the top of your head."

"Majored in international relations at Harvard, remember? Probably while you were watching _Star Wars_ for the three hundred and eightieth time so you could memorize how many X-wings were involved in the assault on the Death Star."

While his mom let out a laugh, Chuck shivered and moved closer to Sarah. "I love it when you talk nerdy."

He was interrupted from doing anything else by Casey's loud and pointed grunt. Things could heat up quickly between the couple when Sarah talked _Star Wars _and it was obvious the major wanted to end it before it could start. "What alias should Bartowski use?" he asked. "He can't use Carmichael since Benoit might recognize it from his dealings with Bauer."

Chuck wiggled an eyebrow at Sarah and then answered Casey. "How about 'Charles Charles?' That's the alias you gave me when Sarah and I went on our honeymoon."

"That would work," Sarah said.

"What about you, Agent Walker?" Vegas asked. "Will you be Mrs. Charles?"

She glanced down at the notes she had written and shook her head. "No. Benoit and his men know me as 'Sarah Irving' from when I went to his party in Paris."

Mary bolted upright on the sofa so suddenly that Megan—who had been leaning against her grandmother as they all watched a movie—fell over sideways and flopped onto the cushion. "Sarah, you've met Benoit?"

Chuck's eyebrows shot up. "We didn't tell you? Sarah's the one who took the flashdrive with the ledger from Benoit's safe."

"_You_ were the one who took Benoit's ledger? _You're_ the one who started all of this?" Mary said with wide eyes.

Sarah audibly gulped in response to Mary's strong reaction to this news. "Um, yes," she ventured tentatively.

Mary stood from her seat and crossed the room. "You mentioned before that you saw our code names in Benoit's ledger, but you never said how you got it in the first place."

Sarah rubbed at the back of her neck, not sure how to respond. Chuck draped his arm across the back of her chair, rubbed his thumb on her upper arm and said proudly, "Yup. Sorry we didn't tell you. We're not used to talking about her missions in front of others. Sarah's the reason Benoit's on the run."

Mary's head snapped back in surprise. "I had no idea." To Sarah she said, "I heard you say 'Sarah Irving?' You used Chuck's middle name as your alias?"

Sarah's head moved up and down in a halting nod. She'd used his 'Irving' as a way to stay connected to her husband even when she was away on a mission. Did Mary think that despite her innocent intentions, it had instead been an unwise and potentially dangerous thing she'd done?

"What a sweet gesture, Sarah," Mary said with a soft smile. Resting a hand on Chuck's shoulder, she shook her head slowly and added, "It's kind of amazing that my son's wife and her colleagues will hopefully finish the mission to stop Henri Benoit that Stephen and I started so many years ago."

Sarah's racing heart modulated as she started to breathe again.

Mary turned to go back to the living room when she stopped, stood still for a moment and then turned around again. Eyebrows pulled together, she asked, "How soon after you took the drive did Benoit realize it was gone?"

Sarah thought over the events of that past March. "Not long, a couple of days at the most."

"Do you think Benoit has any reason to believe you were involved with the break into his safe?"

Pursing her lips, Sarah replayed in her mind the time she spent in Benoit's office where the safe was located. She sat back and crossed her arms across her chest. "No one saw me come from the office, but a couple of Benoit's goons caught me in the hallway just after I left it. I tried to make it look like I'd just come from the bathroom and faked feeling sick from drinking too much champagne. My backup, Agent Barker, helped me out to the car. Once we said our goodbyes to Benoit, Barker and I took off."

"Benoit could suspect you took the drive since you were in the hallway," Casey said.

"And if he already suspects you and then you suddenly show up in Monte Carlo at the same time he's there, that will make him even more suspicious," Barstow added.

Sarah raked her hands through her hair in frustration. "We can't possibly know what he suspects. I was hoping to use my previous contact with him as a way to get close _to_ him, not to be targeted _by_ him."

Stephen joined the group and stood next to his wife. "You need to make sure Benoit thinks someone else swiped the drive." He dropped his head and rubbed his fingertips over his forehead. "Benoit was always paranoid that other black marketeers were out to destroy him. That's one of the reasons why it was so easy for him to believe one of his competitors had Mary and me eliminated." Looking up again, he asked, "What if Benoit gets proof that someone from a rival syndicate stole it and passed it on to the authorities to get him out of the way? He'd believe it in a heartbeat."

"That might work, Dad, but how does that even happen?" Chuck asked. Sarah heard exasperation edge into his voice.

"We get Dmitri to help us," Stephen said. He started to circle the table as he spoke, as if the movement helped him think. "Dmitri hears a rumor here in Moscow about some of Benoit's sensitive financials falling into the wrong hands. Being a loyal foot soldier with not much else to do with his boss in hiding, he tracks it down. It leads him to one of Benoit's most hated competitors in Paris." Stephen stopped and stared at Chuck and then Sarah, looking through her as he thought. Then he suddenly began to circle and talk again. "Then Dmitri calls one of Benoit's men in Paris and reports. He tells him he located a copy of the ledger on a fall guy's hard drive. A bombshell like that should travel up the chain of command pretty fast."

"Who's the fall guy going to be?" Chuck asked.

Stephen stopped and looked at Mary. "Maybe one of Dubois' men?"

Mary nodded. "Dubois and Benoit hated each other. Dmitri just needs to come up with a name of one of Dubois' men who would be hard to track down so they can't check up on the story."

"I'm sorry, but how does Dmitri prove he really tracked down a copy of the ledger?" Vegas asked. "Benoit's men aren't going to bother the big boss unless they believe it themselves."

"Excellent question," Stephen said. To Sarah, he suddenly looked like a professor giving a college seminar. "We give a copy of the ledger to Dmitri to take with him, or at least part of it. He gives the guy he talks to some names and numbers from it and tells him to repeat them to Benoit, saying that Benoit will immediately recognize that information could only come from someone in possession of the ledger. The message gets passed along until Benoit gets it."

"That all sounds great, Stephen," Casey said, "but how will we know if Benoit gets the message? If we don't have some kind of confirmation, we're going into this mission in the same position we are now."

Sarah sat up straighter. "Dmitri says he doesn't know what to do next. He knows the ledger's really important and doesn't trust anyone else with it. He'll only take directions from Benoit himself."

"Perfect," Mary said.

"So when Benoit calls Dmitri, we know he's gotten the message and Dubois gets the blame." Chuck looked at his dad. "Hope it works."

"We all do, son," Stephen said. He took his phone from his pocket and started toward the hallway. "I'll call Dmitri right now."

With the side mission now in motion, Sarah tapped her pen against the notepad on the table and scanned the list of things she needed Graham's immediate help with: fake passports, last minute hotel and flight reservations, and lots of cash. Going to Monaco with the intent of apprehending Benoit wasn't going to be cheap.

Chuck's voice pulled her from her musings. "Sarah, you said something a few minutes ago about hoping to use your previous connection to Benoit to get close to him. What do you mean?"

"I'm hoping that Benoit's advance men will recognize me. I chat with them and get more intel on what Benoit's movements will be. Then we can make plans to nab him."

"You're the most memorable woman I've ever known, honey, but you were only at Benoit's party for a short time. How can you even be sure any of Benoit's men will know you?"

"You're right. I can't be sure." Her eyes twinkled at him when she added, "There _is_ someone I'm pretty sure every man on Benoit's team will remember. I have the feeling she'll jump at the chance to come play and cause trouble with me on the Côte d'Azur."

Everyone at the table said the name together as a chorus. "Carina."

~ O ~

The next morning, packed suitcases lined the apartment wall near the door, ready to go to the airport. Those to whom the luggage belonged were assembled in the living room, subdued and somber. Wet eyes and running noses were swiped at by some, while hot tears freely streaked down the cheeks of others. No one in the room was immune from sniffling, which was loud and constant.

The back of Sarah's throat burned and her vision grew blurry as she watched the hugs, kisses and murmured words, goodbyes and I love yous, shared between each of the kids and their grandparents. The only other time in her life when Sarah had felt such a profound sense of loss and sadness was before she and Chuck got engaged, when she believed she would have to leave Chuck and the kids forever.

"I wish you could come with us," Megan said, her words halting and hiccuppy.

Mary, kneeling in front of her youngest grandchild, moved a strand of Megan's blonde hair behind her shoulder. "I do, too, pumpkin, but your grandpa and I have to stay here. Until Benoit is caught and we know he can't hurt any of us anymore, we need to lay low."

Even though Megan's lower lip stuck out with displeasure, she nodded slowly and then wrapped her arms around her grandmother's neck.

Stephen gave Sarah a trembling smile and then enveloped her in a tight hug. "You are an astounding woman, Sarah Walker Bartowski. Our son and grandchildren are lucky to have you in their lives," he whispered.

When she closed her eyes, tears caught in her lashes. After swallowing at the tightness in her throat, she managed to reply, "It's the other way around." She felt his arms tighten just before he released her.

Then Mary stepped in front of her. Her face was stoic, but Sarah saw the heartache etched there. Mary swiped at the dampness on her cheeks with her fingers and then opened her arms. As they embraced, Mary said, "Thank you for protecting my family."

Sarah squeezed her mother-in-law tightly. "Thank you for protecting them first."

The hugs between Chuck and his parents nearly ripped Sarah's heart from her chest. It was cruel that parents and child—the chasm of separation finally bridged—had to part again.

"This isn't goodbye," Chuck said, pulling back from his mother's embrace. At the certainty in his voice, Sarah peered into his face. He was dry-eyed and she saw a grim determination that told her he would do everything in his power to end his parents' exile. "We're going to get Benoit."

Stephen placed a hand on Chuck's arm. "We know, son."

"Even if we don't get him in Monte Carlo, we'll keep after him until we do. In the meantime, we'll come visit as often as we can."

Sarah's gaze slid from Chuck's face to Mary's. The wistful look she saw told her Mary hoped that could be, but at the same time believed it was a bad idea. Regardless of what Mary's face conveyed, Sarah knew Mary said what was in her heart when she answered with a gentle, "We'd like that."

Stephen rested his hand on Mary's back and said in a quiet voice, "We should go so they can get to the airport."

Mary's eyes never left Chuck's when she gently touched her fingertips to the side of his face. When she rose up on her tiptoes, he dipped his head to receive her kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye, Charles."

She stepped back from him, waved at the kids and Sarah and then turned toward the door. Without looking back, she opened it and stepped into the hall. "Goodbye, good luck and see you soon," Stephen said. He lifted a hand in farewell, grabbed their bags from the floor, followed his wife into the hall and gently closed the door.

Chuck stood stock-still, his stare riveted to where his parents had just stood. He was once again that nine year-old boy left behind. Sarah stepped in front of him and took him in her arms. She held him close as he rested his cheek against the side of her head and allowed his tears to flow.

~ O ~

The thirty-minute train ride to the airport was one of the quietest times of travel with the kids Sarah had ever experienced. The tears for the most part had dried, save the occasional puddled eyes and nose wiping of the two youngest. But there was no talking, no playing, no reading, no teasing. There were only silent stares out windows as Moscow flashed past.

Having just gone through check-in, customs and passport control with Morgan at the same airport the day before, they knew exactly where to go and what to expect when they arrived. As a result, they had a much less stressful and exhausting time navigating through the checkpoints than when they'd arrived at Domodedovo Airport a few days before.

Once their airplane was in the air, the pall that hung over the kids began to lift. As Moscow became more distant, teasing and snickering increasingly punctuated the conversations that had started off quiet and restrained. When Spy Barbie made an appearance after they'd been flying for about an hour, a huge wave of relief swept over Sarah. The kids were going to be okay.

When they first sat down in their seats after getting the kids situated and ready for the flight, Sarah had noticed Chuck still looking blue and asked if he wanted to talk about it. He had smiled at her gratefully but shook his head. Knowing it was best to let him be, she simply held his hand and read the Russian airline magazine while he gazed out the window.

Soon after Spy Barbie came on the scene, Chuck turned to her and said, "I'm sorry I wasn't much help with the mission stuff this morning. I was kind of distracted with leaving my parents and everything."

"Chuck, don't apologize. I understand. The team understands. Barstow and Vegas were more than happy to go to the Embassy and get the cash and our," she raised an eyebrow and dropped her voice, "documents."

"Yeah, even Casey was nice to me." He snorted and shot her a rueful smile. "It was really disconcerting."

It warmed her to see him breaking out of his sadness. "Don't get used to it. By the time we get off the plane, he'll be back to his grunting self."

"With my alias, what will he do when he can't snarl 'Bartowski' at me?"

"He'll just have to hold it in until you're in the privacy of your own hotel suite."

"So the plan is a go? Everything's in place?"

"Mm-hmm. We heard back from Dmitri this morning. He said he spoke with Benoit directly on the phone who praised him for his loyalty and discretion. It also sounds like Benoit's about to start a war with Dubois and his syndicate over the pilfered ledger."

Chuck grimaced. "Oh boy."

She squeezed his hand which was still in hers and said, "We'll get to him before he can do much." That was the plan anyway. She dipped her head and caught his gaze. "Are you all set to become Charles Charles?"

He nodded and sighed. "I wish we didn't have to pretend we're not married. I'm going to turn around expecting you to be right beside me and you won't be there. And I don't like sleeping alone."

"I know. I hate it too, but it's the only way. Sarah Irving is single and will have her own hotel room. And it's the safest thing for me not to be connected directly to the kids. If Benoit gets wind somehow that I'm not who I say I am, he can't use them against me." She brightened and added, "At least we're all staying at the same hotel." With a coy smile, she added in a low voice, "Maybe, Charles Charles will sweep Ms. Irving off her feet."

A slow, sexy smile spread on his face. "That could be fun."

She bounced her eyebrows at him in response. "But since Mr. Charles and Ms. Irving are single—" She dragged his left hand onto her lap, wiggled his wedding band over his knuckle and slid it off his finger. Looking him in the eyes, she said, "I'm the only one who gets to do that, by the way. Ever."

"_I_ don't get to ever take it off? I've watched you take yours off yourself."

"That was for work."

"Well, maybe I'll need to take mine off for work."

She knew he was teasing, but narrowed her eyes at him anyway. "Sitting at your computer writing software?"

"Maybe I don't want to get it dirty when I change the oil in the van."

With a crooked eyebrow, she asked, "When have you ever changed the oil in the van? Or any car for that matter?"

"Well, never, Ms. Smartypants." He looked like he was about to stick his tongue out at her. "But you never know. I might want to learn."

"Uh-huh," she intoned. The eyebrow stayed up. "The ring stays on unless _I_ take it off."

"If that's the rule," he said, taking her left hand, pulling it toward him and slipping her rings off, "_I'm_ the only one who gets to take your rings off from now on." He released her hand and held the rings up pinched between his thumb and finger for her to observe.

After slipping his ring on her thumb, she took her purse from under the seat in front of her, plopped it on her lap and dug around until she found the red ring box. Flipping the top up, she held it out so he could slide her rings into the slot. Once he'd done so, she placed his ring on top of the white velvet so that it encircled hers. Carefully closing the lid so his ring wouldn't bounce out, she then put the box back in her bag and returned the bag to its place near her feet. She tried to keep from smiling, but simply couldn't. "What if I want to change the oil in the van and don't want to get them dirty?"

"Do you know how to change the oil in the van?" He smiled before she could answer. "Of course you do. You can do anything. You're Sarah Walker."

From the other side of her, Megan said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Bartowski."

~ O ~

The kids craned their necks to look out the airplane's windows as it approached Nice Côte d'Azur Airport. The runways were lined up on a spit of land that jutted into the water in such a way that as the plane landed those on one side were treated to a view of the city of Nice and the blue Mediterranean on the other. The gloominess of the morning in Moscow was swept away by the bright sun, vivid colors and excitement of arriving at the French Riviera.

Since Chuck and Sarah were using their real passports to enter France, the family went through passport control and customs and waited for their luggage at baggage claim together. It wasn't until they had all their bags and were ready to travel to the hotel that it became necessary for Sarah to separate from the rest of the group. She wasn't sure when she would get to interact with them again, so she gave each of the kids a farewell hug and kiss on the cheek.

The kids stood with Casey, Vegas and Barstow as Chuck and Sarah stepped off to the side to say goodbye. After a lingering kiss, Sarah fingered a button on his polo shirt and said, "Graham arranged for a couple of minivans to take you to the hotel. The drivers should be waiting for you." She glanced over at Casey who stood with his arms crossed, looking annoyed and impatient. "Casey's French is pretty rotten. Are you sure you don't want me to go with you to make sure your rides are here?"

He kissed the tip of her nose. "No. We'll be fine. We're just a bunch of tourists from the States, remember? And we both know the drivers probably speak English."

"What if they don't?" She knew it was necessary for them to arrive at the hotel at different times, but she finding it difficult to let them go without her.

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Then I'll either talk really loud and slow in English, like somehow that'll help them miraculously understand me or I'll mangle the French language so badly it'll earn me a punch in the mouth."

Cocking her head, she said, "Not doing yourself any favors with that scenario, sweetheart."

Chuckling, he replied, "Okay, I'll try not to get punched in the mouth. Besides, you know Barstow and Vegas both speak French."

"I know," she said with a sigh. "I just want to stay with you."

"I know, but we'll be fine. We'll have to make sure Mr. Charles and Ms. Irving meet soon, okay?"

"Okay." She tugged at the front of his shirt, pulling his head down. She kissed him again and before releasing the bunched material in her hand, whispered, "I love you."

He kissed her quickly once more and said, "I love you, too."

She released her hold on his shirt and grabbed the handle of her bag. "Text me when you get there."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his eyes filled with humor at her "request."

"And don't forget to swap out your documents before you get to the hotel."

His smile remained. "I won't."

After peering around Chuck and giving the kids a final small wave, she said quietly to him, "See you later." Then she spun on her heels and strode off toward the ladies' room, her suitcase trailing behind her. She and the girls had already used the facilities when they first deplaned, but she knew this was a good way for her to make a clean break from them. Once in the bathroom she checked herself in the mirror. She freshened her lipstick and combed her fingers through her hair.

Moving away from the line of sinks, Sarah Bartowski prepared to become Sarah Irving.

She slid one of Sarah Irving's business cards in the plastic ID tag attached to her suitcase and unzipped one of the side pockets. Removing her wallet from her purse, she stuffed it in the pocket and pulled from it another wallet with Sarah Irving's driver's license and credit cards. Finally, she swapped her Sarah Bartowski passport for her fake one, tucking the real one in the lining of her purse. She'd be sure to secure her real wallet, passport and the box with their wedding rings in the safe when she got to her room at the hotel.

When she exited the ladies' room, she glanced over to the location where her family had stood a few minutes before. They were gone. Even though she knew they were safe and well protected, her stomach still dropped to see it vacant.

As she walked toward the doors that led to the street at the front of the terminal, she felt oddly out of sorts. She had been traveling with such a large group for the past three weeks it was strange to be suddenly without them.

Stepping outside, the front of airport was busy with passengers being both dropped off and picked up. Standing under the white and beige striped awning that ran the length of the terminal, she surveyed the area. The uneasiness she'd felt only a moment before disappeared when thirty yards to her left, she saw Fred and Barstow—and a man Sarah presumed to be one of the drivers—loading bags into the back of a large black van. A second identical van was parked directly behind it with Casey, Curtis and Vegas putting luggage in it.

Her gaze fell on her husband, standing on the sidewalk talking with the other driver. Unobserved, she watched him. Whatever qualms he'd had about communication issues were clearly unfounded. Animated, he nodded and smiled as he spoke with the driver. Even from a distance, she could appreciate his confident manner, strong, handsome build and quick, devastating smile. She watched Curtis approach and say something that prompted laughter from all three. When Chuck—a massive grin on his face—put the boy in a playful headlock and gave him a noogie, she somehow managed to fall deeper in love with him.

Eventually she realized those around her probably thought she was a stalker with the way she kept her eyes on Chuck so she forced herself to look the other way. A few yards to her right, she noticed a man, smartly dressed in an impeccable suit, standing at the curb. When he saw her look his way, he smiled and walked toward her with his hand extended in greeting. "Mademoiselle Irving?"

"_Oui_."

"Welcome to Nice," he said in French and shook her hand. "I am Marcel." He swept his hand back and indicated the car behind him. A sleek, black Porsche 911 Carrera S sat gleaming in the sun. "Your car awaits to take you on your French holiday." Graham had told her he was going to have a luxury car waiting for her at the airport, one commensurate with the lifestyle of international business consultant Sarah Irving. Her gaze swept appreciatively over the car and with a nod, approved of his choice. With the convertible top down, Sarah Irving was ready to enjoy the drive on the winding roads to Monaco.

Together, they stepped over to the car. Marcel leaned over and picked up an iPad that had been lying on the passenger seat. "After I see your driver's license, I'll have you sign that you have taken possession of this fine machine and you can be on your way." As he examined her license and tapped on the iPad screen, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the two black vans drive slowly past. She forced herself to not look up and concentrated on what Marcel was doing.

After she signed 'Sarah Irving' with her finger on the screen, Marcel lifted the hood of the car and stowed her suitcase. Once it was securely closed, he held up the fob and said, "Enjoy."

"Thank you, Marcel," she said, taking the fob from him. "Wonderful service as always."

He stepped over to the driver's side door and opened it. She slid into the seat and he closed the door. With a gracious bow of his head, he said, "It is my honor. _Au revoir_." With that, he walked around the end of the car, across the sidewalk and disappeared into the terminal.

She strapped on her seatbelt, slipped on her aviator sunglasses and started the engine. A smile exploded at the engine's growl when she revved it. Putting it in gear, she eased into traffic with a chill of excitement. This was going to be fun.

Rather than taking the A8, the quickest route from the airport to the hotel, she decided to take a more scenic way. With the car she was driving, it was a crime not to take advantage of the sun and scenery. Plus, she was pretty sure the vans carrying her family would go the shorter way and she didn't want to arrive at the hotel at the same moment they did. She wanted to give them plenty of time to get checked in before she got there.

The first part of her route took her through Nice, right along the coast, with the beach and the Mediterranean Sea on her right and palm trees and luxury hotels lining the street on her left. People strolled, rode bicycles and sat along the promenade, enjoying the sun and sea on a lazy Wednesday afternoon. As she navigated traffic, Sarah stole glances toward the water every chance she got. All along the way, flags of different nations fluttered at the top of poles in the sea breeze, their colors bright against the blue sky.

Once through Nice, the road narrowed and began to bend and curve as she climbed steadily in elevation. She drove past red-tiled villas, perched precariously on the sides of mountains, taking full advantage of the spectacular views of land and sea the elevation afforded them.

The Porsche hugged the turns as she smoothly wound her way east toward Monaco. Soon, she was on the Moyenne Corniche, the middle of three roads carved out of the mountainside that paralleled the coast. While the Grande Corniche was the highest of the three in elevation and the most challenging to drive, it was out of her way. The Basse Corniche, which ran along the coast and through seaside villages, would make for slow going.

Since the hotel where she would be staying was at the eastern end of Monaco, she decided not drive through the center of the tiny nation and stayed on the Moyenne Corniche. As the road took her closer to the coast, she dropped in elevation. After some final twists and turns she entered Monaco and drove to the hotel. It was situated on the water with beach access and an Olympic sized swimming pool. She wondered how long it would be before the kids would be in the pool.

From the time she'd left the airport in Nice to her pulling in front of the hotel, her travel time had been around fifty minutes. Before she got out of her car, she checked her phone and was happy to see the text from Chuck telling her they had arrived at the hotel. According to the time on the message, he had sent it fifteen minutes before. When she didn't see them in the lobby, she assumed they were settling into their rooms.

It took only a few minutes before Sarah Irving was checked in. Her room was elegant and featured beach colors of navy blue, white and gray. The most spectacular part of the room was the view of the bay from the balcony. She slid the glass door open and stepped out. Staring down into the water, it was easy to forget why she was there in the first place. Moscow and everything that had happened there seemed a world away.

She texted Chuck, letting him know she was at the hotel and her room number. When he messaged her back, he told her their room numbers and informed her that the kids thought Monte Carlo was the greatest place ever. While she was happy the kids were so excited, it hit her how much she missed being around their infectious enthusiasm. She had just responded that Sarah Irving needed to meet Charles Charles as soon as possible when there was a knock at her door.

She could just imagine him heading straight for her room, texting her the whole way. And while she enjoyed the idea of seeing him again so soon, they both knew the first time they "met" needed to be in public. If someone saw him outside her door now, it could blow the whole charade. "We're not supposed—" she began as she swung open the door.

"We're not supposed to what, Sarah?" Carina asked with a smirk.

"Oh!" Sarah's head snapped back in surprise when she saw that it wasn't Chuck after all. Recovering quickly, she said, "Caryn. You made it." She gave Carina a quick hug and then stepped back. "Come in."

Once the door was closed, Carina said, "You called me and here I am." She sauntered around the room, her head turning this way and that as she took in the décor. "Actually, my boss called me after your boss called him."

"You got here fast."

"My directive was to drop everything, grab my Caryn Mitchell passport, get my magnificently tight ass to Monte Carlo ASAP and meet up with Sarah Irving. So I jumped on a flight and here I am."

"Magnificently tight ass?" Sarah repeated with a raised eyebrow.

"You know it." She looked around the room and said, "Finally came to your senses and ditched the ball and chain?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Chuck and the kids are here, too. Sarah Irving is single."

"And ready to mingle?" Carina hooted. "Cool! What's the hubby gonna say when he catches you canoodling with some sexy French or Italian guy?"

"He's not. There will be no 'canoodling' unless it's with him. Chuck's pretending to be single, too." She pressed her lips together and waited for Carina's response. She wasn't disappointed when the redhead made a gagging noise and rolled her eyes.

"Of course he is," she intoned, sinking down in a gray armchair. "A married couple pretending to hook up? Kinky." She flipped one side of her hair behind her shoulder. "We're here for Benoit, huh?"

"Did your boss tell you that?" Sarah asked, sitting down on the small navy sofa across from her friend.

Carina waved a dismissive hand. "Not in so many words. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that you tracked our good buddy Henri to Monte Carlo. Caryn Mitchell and Sarah Irving are here to arrest him… or something. Did the intel I gave you on his yacht pan out?"

Sarah shrugged. "He ditched the _El Dorado_ and bought a new one. Our intel says he's on _a_ yacht, but we don't know which one. Since we don't know the name of it the Agency satellites aren't much help."

"You can't swing a dead cat along the Côte d'Azur without hitting a yacht the size of a cruise ship," Carina agreed.

"Exactly, so we wait until he comes on shore."

"He's coming on shore? Why would he do that?" Carina asked.

"He'll be here this weekend for some high stakes gambling at the casino. Private room and the head of casino security in his pocket. It's been planned for a while and he doesn't want to miss out. Sounds like he's sure he'll be able to get in and out without any issues."

Carina snorted and shook her head. "Typical Henri. He's such an arrogant bastard. He's got half the world's intelligence agencies scouring the globe for him and he waltzes into Monte Carlo to gamble. Only an egotistical son of a bitch like him would believe he's untouchable."

"Hopefully we can use his delusions of grandeur to our advantage."

Carina put her elbow on the chair's arm and rested a finger on the side of her face. "Where'd you get this intel, anyway?"

She wasn't going to breathe a word to anyone, not even her friend, about Mary and Stephen, so she answered with a vague, "Contact of a contact of a contact."

Carina gave her a sharp look but accepted Sarah's vague response without comment. "So we hope Benoit or one of his men recognizes us—or at least me—and get invited to the game?" she ventured.

Sarah nodded. "The game or dinner or lunch with Prince Albert at the palace. Whatever. Anything that will get us past his security team. Then we nab him without getting ourselves killed."

"Obviously," Carina replied with a snort. "So Caryn Mitchell and Sarah Irving became friends after they met at Benoit's party in Paris—"

"—and decided to take a summer holiday together on the French Riviera."

Carina looked at her thoughtfully. "Have you considered that Benoit might think you had something to do with the ledger being stolen? And now you show up in Monte Carlo when he's here? He might shoot you on sight."

Nodding, Sarah answered, "We did and took steps to throw him off my trail. He thinks a rival black marketeer had it stolen and gave it to the authorities."

"I'm not even going to ask," Carina said, although Sarah noticed the look of approval on her face. "Okay, so you and I need to cruise Monte Carlo hoping Benoit or one of his goons sees us? I can do that." She rose from her chair, wandered over to the minibar, took out a couple bottles of beer and held one up asking Sarah if she wanted it.

"No thanks, but I'll take a bottle of mineral water."

Carina squinted at her. Deliberately, she put the bottle of beer back and took out a bottle of water. Walking back toward her, she smirked. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not pregnant." She took the proffered bottle. "Thanks."

Carina sat back down and twisted the cap off her beer. Tossing it on the table, she took a swig and then pointed the top of the bottle at Sarah. "Maybe not, but you think there's a chance you might be." The redhead was grinning now, obviously amused. "You and the big nerd are working on making a little nerdling. Having fun?"

Sarah opened her bottle and took a drink. She knew Carina wouldn't give it a rest, so she decided to toss her friend a bone. With eyes twinkling, she smiled and answered, "Yes."

"I knew it!" she said, sitting up straighter.

"We're not announcing it to the world, so just keep your mouth shut about this, okay?"

"What? You think I'm going to run up to Chuckie and ask him why he hasn't knocked you up, yet?"

Laughing, Sarah shook her head. "You're always so classy, Carina. And yes, I wouldn't put it past you."

"You know I totally would." She tipped her bottle up again and took another drink. "But since I don't want scar your kids by talking in front of them about how often their uncle and aunt get busy, I'll keep this to myself."

"On behalf of the kids and their mental health, I thank you," Sarah said. She lifted her bottle in salute and then took another swallow of her sparkling water.

"Okay, enough of that. I get why Caryn Mitchell and Sarah Irving are here, but what does Chuckie have to do with all of this?"

"You know what happens every time you and I go out together," Sarah said, pulling a face. At gleeful look on Carina's countenance, she added, "And I'm not _just_ talking about ending up in jail."

"That was fun and you know it."

"I'm not sure I would use the word 'fun.' 'Memorable' would be better. And 'mortifying.'"

"Whatever," Carina said, waving her bottle through the air. "And I know what you're talking about. If you're with Chuckie, you hope to keep the men from hitting on you all the time."

"Yeah, but not just that. I really do love being with him."

Carina rolled her eyes again. "You're hopeless."

"That's what you keep telling me," Sarah answered with a short laugh. Keeping her tone mild, she added, "I'm not ashamed of being in love with my husband."

Carina held up her hand in surrender. "I know, I know. Puppies and glitter and rainbows and unicorns." Sarah watched her friend's gaze drop to her left hand. "You're not wearing your man repellents. You know how some guys can be. I'm not sure Chuckie's going to be enough of a deterrent."

"He and I will just have to be convincing," she responded with a wicked grin. At the twisted grimace on Carina's face, Sarah laughed and said, "You look like you just licked a dumpster."

"It never stops with you two, does it?"

"Lisa says the same thing. And no, it never does," she answered, unabashed.

"Lisa's a smart girl," Carina said with approval. "Look, Walker. I get it. You're married. You love your big nerdy stud. You don't want to fight off handsy guys in bars. Blah, blah, blah. But you and the hubby can't be so kissy face that it keeps the guys we actually _want_ to talk to from coming up to us."

"The 'kissy face' as you call it, won't be a problem. I was just messing with you. We'll keep it casual and we won't be together all the time. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure how much he and I will even be together. We're going to play it by ear. As for him getting involved with Benoit, I'm not sure that will happen either. But if it does, Chuck's proven to be very valuable on missions. He's smart and intuitive and brave." Her tone changed from emphatic to mischievous. "And he's one hell of a dancer."

Carina chuckled and raised her bottle in salute. "The most valuable skill of them all."

Sarah's smile faded quickly. Steely-eyed, she said, "I'll never put Chuck in a situation where I can't protect him."

"Chill, Walker," Carina said, putting her hand up in mock surrender. "I don't doubt that for a minute."

The muscles in her shoulders loosened. "His alias is Charles Charles, by the way."

"Charles Charles? Wow," the redhead said with a laugh. "Why does he need an alias?"

"I can't tell you." It was clear from the tone of her voice, she wasn't kidding around.

An eyebrow rose, but it was clear Carina received Sarah's message loud and clear. "Okay, Charles Charles it is. Geez, I'd forgotten how serious you could be on a mission. Anyone else have an alias I need to know about?"

"No."

In the quiet, they each took a sip from their bottles. When Carina cocked her head and frowned, Sarah asked, "What's the matter?"

"Caryn Mitchell is not a third wheel." Her eyes cut toward Sarah. "If you go out at all with Chuckie… Is—"

"Yes, Barstow is here, too." Sarah didn't miss the predatory look that flashed on her friend's face.

"Well, that makes it much more interesting, doesn't it? Maybe a double date?"

"That's what I'm thinking."

"Okay, Ms. Irving. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

"Thanks," Sarah answered wryly.

They chatted in Sarah's room for another hour and Sarah told Carina about what had happened on the trip since they last saw each other in Amsterdam two weeks before. She included her and Casey's kidnapping and subsequent rescue in Prague, but kept the detail about Chuck's parents being behind it to herself. After Carina groused that Chuck should have used the secret codes she had given him to contact her when Sarah and Casey had been abducted, she informed Sarah that her undercover work with Dutch authorities was nearly over and would be heading back to the States soon.

Once they'd caught up with each other, Carina returned to her room down the hall to unpack. Sarah took the opportunity to do the same and carry on a text conversation with Lizzie about how amazing it was to be in Monaco.

Later that evening, Sarah and Carina went to dinner at one of the hotel's restaurants. As the two women were seated on the terrace, Sarah did a quick sweep and noticed that her family and team were seated at two tables not far away.

She sat facing the sea, which was a good thing since it kept her from being tempted to watch her family. She did notice, however, when Carina glanced at the table where Barstow and some of the kids sat and give the group a sly wink. That was quickly followed by another wink toward the other table.

When Sarah heard the burst of excited, loud whispers coming from the tables behind her, she said in a warning tone, "Caryn."

"What? I can't help it if kids love me."

"Yeah, because you're obviously so maternal," Sarah said. Her voice was laced with sarcasm as she looked down at the menu in her hand.

"You see it, too," Carina replied, nodding in mock approval.

Chuckling, Sarah said, "Just read your menu."

The two women were about halfway through their dinners when Sarah heard chairs scraping against the floor as her family prepared to leave the restaurant. She worked to keep her eyes on the food on her plate as they filed by behind her. When the back of her chair received a hearty bump, she turned and peered over her shoulder to find Chuck looking down at her apologetically.

"I'm so sorry, miss. Er, um, _excuse moi_," he said, appearing embarrassed.

"It's okay," she answered in English.

He looked relieved and then flashed her a heart-stopping grin. "We're a big group." With that, he turned away, put his arm around Curtis' shoulder and followed the rest of the family out of the restaurant.

_God, he looked fantastic_, Sarah thought as she turned forward and took another bite of food. She'd bought him the burgundy dress shirt and black slacks he wore, and had seen him wear them before, so she really shouldn't have been having such a strong reaction to him now. But seeing him out of context like that, and the fact that a hint of his aftershave still lingered in the air around her… it got to her.

"Easy, girl," Carina said in a low voice.

Sarah took a sip of water. "What?" she asked as she set the glass back on the table.

Barely above a whisper, Carina said, "You almost went cross-eyed just now."

"Did not."

Carina rolled her eyes. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

They finished their meals and as they ate their desserts, watched the sun set. Even as darkness fell and the lights of Monte Carlo twinkled on along the coast, the air remained warm.

After dinner, claiming they needed to be out and about in case any of Benoit's men were around, Carina talked her into hanging out at the hotel's lounge, an outside disco where people danced and the drinks flowed freely. It wasn't until they noticed the American flags and the waitresses dressed in red, white and blue carrying trays with sparkler-like candles attached did they realize it was the Fourth of July. That explained why the DJ didn't play the usual techno dance music, but instead blasted American pop. While she didn't find Beyoncé's _Single Ladies_ particularly patriotic, it was fun to dance to.

Sarah chatted politely with several different men who approached her and even danced with a couple of them. When one particularly obnoxious guy reeking of cologne and alcohol couldn't keep his hands to himself, she found herself reaching for her knives. It was clear to her it was time to leave. Although Carina didn't want to go, Sarah dragged her away using the excuse that she didn't want to have to bail out the redhead from jail later.

It was after midnight when Sarah finally slipped to her room. Opening the sliding glass door, she stepped out onto the balcony and sat down in one of the chairs. She could still hear the music drifting up from the lounge, but it was far enough away and not so loud that it would keep her awake. Plus, she knew the party would be closing down for the night soon anyway.

She gazed out at the city lights reflecting on the water and wished she could talk to Chuck. It wasn't going to happen though, since his roommates—most likely Bridget, Martie and Megan—were asleep. Instead, she decided to send him a goodnight text. Waking her phone, she was happy to see he'd sent her one earlier. He wished her sweet dreams and said he was going to bed. Her happiness turned to disappointment when she saw it had been delivered to her phone forty-five minutes before. He was probably already asleep.

After sending him a short text wishing him good night, she set the phone on the small table and waited for a reply on the off chance he was still awake. When she didn't hear back from him after fifteen minutes, she got her answer. He was asleep. Sighing, she got up and went inside. She brushed her teeth, washed her face and then walked over to her suitcase where she found her sleepwear. Slipping off her sundress, she pulled on Chuck's old Stanford t-shirt and crawled in bed. The shirt was a pale substitute for being with him, but it helped her feel connected to him nonetheless. She turned off the light and slipped off to sleep thinking of the grinning and handsome Mr. Charles Charles.


	44. Casual Conversations

**A/N:** You know you're all awesome, right? Thank you so much for the fantastic response to the previous chapter. Let's just say I grinned a lot and was (and am) filled with gratitude.

Thanks to **AgentInWaiting** for his hard work on this and all of my humongous chapters. Funny story, actually. This chapter and the next started out as one big chapter. I decided to split it due to how lengthy it had become (you're _shocked_, I know) and story elements I felt still needed to be added. He was really supportive of that decision and I'm so thankful for that.

Thank you to those of you who have checked in on my family and me regarding the fires currently burning here in Colorado. Other than our smoky sky, we're fine. My thoughts and prayers go out for those fighting the fires, those who have been evacuated and especially those who have lost everything.

One last thing, more pictures of Monaco will be posted on my blog today. Hope you check them out.

**Chapter 44 – Casual Conversations**

There were times when Sarah Walker hated her job, like when she had to crawl through a dust-bunny filled air conditioning vent to free a captured colleague or a rat-infested sewer to escape the clutches of a double agent. Then there were times like this when it was the best job in the world. Today, she was in Monaco, wiling away the afternoon by the pool of a beachside resort, reclining on a chaise longue and soaking up the warmth of the sun. It was glorious.

Of course, she was there on the job and was actually working. She was hoping she and Carina would catch the attention of Benoit's men and gain more intel on their quarry's plans for his time in Monte Carlo. There hadn't been any contact yet, but they'd only just arrived in Monte Carlo the day before. It was Thursday and the high stakes gambling was to take place Saturday, so if they were to make contact with any of Benoit's men, it would happen in the next couple of days.

Reaching over to the small, low table that sat between her and Carina's chairs, she picked up her glass of iced tea and took several long sips through a straw. The drops of condensation that slid down the outside of the glass felt heavenly when they splashed on her sun-warmed skin. She swiped her hand across the drops, distributing the cool wetness across her belly. When it immediately evaporated, she knew she'd soon need to take a dip in the pool to cool off.

She set her drink back on the table, adjusted her sunglasses and watched Chuck and the kids playing in the pool. He, Fred, Lisa and Curtis tossed a colorful, soggy splash ball about the size of a tennis ball back and forth to each other. Lizzie hung out with Megan and Martie at the shallow end where Spy Barbie and GI Joe were in the midst of an underwater mission. Bridget read a fashion magazine while sunning herself on one of the lounge chairs. An ever-vigilant Casey watched over everyone from a chair situated under a large umbrella.

Sarah looked over at Carina—stretched out on the chaise longue next to her—when she heard the redhead make a purring noise. "What?" she asked.

Carina tipped her head toward Barstow swimming laps in the laned-off part of the pool. "He has a nice stroke."

Snorting, Sarah said, "You can compliment a guy on how nicely he swims and yet still manage to make it sound dirty."

She popped a shoulder up and down. "I'm a woman of many talents." After a minute, Carina turned her head a little and grumbled, "Uh-oh. Incoming."

Sarah blew out a breath and kept her gaze straight ahead. Even so, in her peripheral vision, she saw a man who _really_ shouldn't have been wearing a Speedo approach. He stopped next to her and after spending a moment ogling Carina, stared down at her. She slowly turned her head and looked up at him over the top of her sunglasses. He was a walking cliché. The large gold pendant attached to the thick chain around his neck was nearly lost in the fur-like hair that covered his chest. The tips of his spiky hair were frosted and his wide grin showed off teeth that looked like Chiclets. In an oily voice, Mr. Cliché said in French, "Excuse me. Do you have any sunscreen? Because you are burning me up!"

It was all she could do to not burst out laughing. She considered pretending she only spoke Polish, but she'd already been talking to Carina in English, so that wouldn't work. Maybe he didn't speak English. It was worth a try. "I'm sorry?" she said.

Mr. Cliché whipped off his sunglasses and eyed her. "Ah, you are American." He tried his pick up line again, this time in English.

"I'm happy to let you borrow our sunscreen." Picking up the tube that sat on the table next to her iced tea, she held it toward him. "Protecting your skin from the sun's damaging rays is so important," she said, her voice earnest as she worked to maintain a serious demeanor.

Mr. Cliché's smile faltered when she responded so literally. However, she wasn't surprised when he remained undeterred. Shifting his weight to his other foot, he asked, "Can I buy you a drink?" He must have decided he needed to be a little more direct.

"No, thanks. I've got one." When he didn't take the sunscreen, she shrugged, reached around and returned it to its spot on the table. Just as she turned forward again, she heard a _thwap_ and saw a small explosion of water. The soaked splash ball hit Mr. Cliché squarely on the back of the shoulder and after releasing its payload of pool water, dropped to the deck at his feet. Being within its blast radius, both Sarah and Carina were hit by the spray.

Sarah watched Chuck swim to the side of the pool and push himself out right in front of them. She eyed him appreciatively as water cascaded down his long, lanky body. A hum almost escaped from her throat at the way his wet blue board shorts clung to him and the waistband hung low on his hips.

Chuck walked toward them—water slinging off his feet and leaving giant, wet footprints with each step he took—his face filled with embarrassment and apology. His eyes, however, twinkled with mischief. To Mr. Cliché, he said, "I'm _so_ sorry. I totally missed catching that throw. My bad."

Sarah glanced over at Fred, bobbing in the water. He waved his hand and shouted, "Sorry, dude!" She pressed her lips together when she saw on his face that he wasn't sorry at all. She'd have to compliment him later on how impressed she was at the power and accuracy of his throwing arm.

Mr. Cliché scowled at Chuck while Sarah said to her husband, "It's okay. It's hot and the water feels good." She turned her face toward Mr. Cliché and said in a voice that left no doubt he was being dismissed, "He was just leaving."

The scowl on Mr. Cliché's face remained, but he finally seemed to receive the message since he flicked his fingers through the front spikes in his hair, slid his sunglasses on and strode off.

Chuck picked up the ball, smiled at her and said, "Again, I'm sorry." As he turned, Sarah saw him sneak a peek at her legs. That brought a grin to her face while she watched him walk back to the pool, jump in and toss the ball to Lisa.

"Now we're tied, three each," Carina said. "The Wookie wins the prize as the cheesiest, though."

"Yeah, he was something, wasn't he? At least the rest of the guys who've come up to us have been normal. A couple of them were really cute, Caryn. You should have gone for it."

"I could say the same about the first two guys who tried to chat you up, Sarah. They were adorable."

Sarah pulled up on the gold hoops straps of her white bikini top. "Not my type."

A throaty chuckle erupted from Carina, as she looked around. There was no one near them but nevertheless she dropped her voice to a whisper and murmured in Swedish, "Chuckie needs to step up his game if he wants people to believe you two are strangers."

"What do you mean?" Sarah replied back in Swedish, indignation coloring her voice. "He played his part perfectly."

The redhead shook her head. "He didn't even look at _me_." She stretched and arched her back. "I mean, come _on_."

Sarah had to settle for rolling her eyes when a woman approached and settled down in the lounger next to them. Turning her attention back to what was in front of her she wondered what Chuck was up to when he suddenly walked across the bottom of the pool toward Fred, plowing his way through the ribcage deep water. When he reached the teen, the two huddled in conversation. Fred peered over his uncle's shoulder in Sarah's direction and grinned. Then he looked back at Chuck and nodded enthusiastically. Chuck returned to his position in the circle and the splash ball continued to travel back and forth across the pool.

Excitement and anticipation swirled in her middle as she watched the game continue. Chuck was clearly up to something and he seemed to be taking the "Sarah Irving and Charles Charles meet cute" thing very seriously. He'd managed to become even more sweet and adorable than he already was.

She didn't have to wait long for his next "move." Fred threw the ball at him again and when it went sailing over his head, Chuck's attempt to catch it was half-hearted at best. The ball flew out of the pool and landed on the deck next to Sarah.

Before she got a chance to pick it up and throw it back, Chuck shouted to his companions, "I got it!" and lifted himself out of the pool again. His feet slapped against the cement as he strode over to where the ball lay, making a puddle. It had to have been her imagination, but Sarah could have sworn he walked toward them in slow motion. Water dripped off his face when he bent to pick it up. Straightening, he gave her a smile that made her dizzy and said, "Sorry." Then he turned and immediately headed back into the pool. It was a good thing her eyes were hidden behind her sunglasses. Otherwise, everyone would have seen how she couldn't tear them away from his retreating form—the way his back tapered from his broad shoulders to his waist. Her bangs lifted a little at the puff of air she blew. Now she really needed to cool off in the pool.

The third time Fred's "errant" throw ended up near Sarah—causing Chuck to retrieve the ball yet again—he smiled at her and said, "His aim seems to be a little off today."

"Uh-huh," Sarah deadpanned. "It seems to me he's pretty good at throwing it in the exact same place every time."

Chuck's smile turned lopsided.

Arching an eyebrow, she asked, "Using your son to help you pick up women? Somehow, I don't think your wife would approve."

"Oh! No, he's not my son," he replied, his eyebrows shooting up. "He's my nephew. All those kids with me are my nieces and nephews. I'm not married." Lowering his head as if embarrassed, he added, "I noticed the parade of guys getting shot down when they came over to talk to you, so I thought I'd try a different approach."

Smiling, she said, "Okay, so you're using your _nephew_ to help you meet women. You don't have any cheesy pick-up lines you could use instead?"

He shook his head. "I only have a couple and they're pretty cringe-worthy."

"I'm game. Try one on me."

A slow smile grew. "Okay, but don't judge me and remember you asked for it."

_God, he's adorable_. "I'll remember."

He cocked his head and asked, "Did it hurt?"

Her brows scrunched in confusion. "Did what hurt?"

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

Sarah laughed out loud while Carina groaned and shook her head. The middle-aged woman lying on the lounge chair on the other side of Sarah chuckled as well. "You're right," Sarah said, still laughing. "That's pretty bad." She moved her legs to the side, giving him permission to sit at the end of her chair.

When he sat down, the kids in the pool realized he was going to be there awhile since it was Lisa who called out, "Hey! Uncle Chuck! Throw the ball back!"

He squeezed water from the ball onto the deck and tossed it back into the pool.

Sarah's eyebrows rose. "Chuck? Really?" she teased with a smile. She instantly flashed back to when she first met him. They'd stood in the entryway of the house with Megan hanging off his neck. He'd asked her to call him Chuck. Had it really only been a year?

In his eyes, she saw that he remembered, too. Just had he had done in those first moments, he wiggled his eyebrows and said, "Yes, Chuck." Then he rolled his eyes. "Wait, it gets worse. My given name is Charles."

"Yeah, Chuck, Charles. It makes sense. So?"

"My last name is also Charles."

Sarah's head snapped back. "Your name is Charles Charles?"

"My parents have an evil sense of humor," he said ruefully.

She shrugged a shoulder. "It's memorable." Shaking her head as if she was suddenly reminded of her manners, she said, "I'm Sarah Irving, by the way and this is my friend, Caryn Mitchell."

Carina lowered her large sunglasses and winked at him. "Hi."

"Um, hi," he said cautiously. Sarah knew the vaguely hunted look on Chuck's face was very real.

The redhead bounced her eyebrows at him and then pushed the sunglasses back up.

Returning his attention to Sarah, he said, "Irving. That's a nice strong name."

She scrunched her nose. "You think? I always thought it was kind of nerdy."

His eyes grew to the size of saucers and she watched him struggle to keep from grinning. The look on his face told her she would pay for that later. She looked forward to it.

"So, ladies, what are you doing here in Monaco?"

"Caryn and I are here on holiday. How about you?"

"I'm here with my nieces and nephews, their nanny and two of my buddies."

"Their nanny?" Sarah asked, genuinely confused.

"Yeah." Chuck tipped his head toward where Casey sat. "He's a male nanny, so I call him the 'manny.'"

She giggled and wondered if they had discussed this before or if Chuck was making it up on the fly. Realizing the chance of Casey agreeing beforehand to being called a 'manny' was zero, she concluded Chuck was making stuff up.

"He's not exactly the most nurturing nanny ever, but he runs a tight ship and you can bounce a quarter off the kids' made beds."

Sarah, Carina and the woman next to her all laughed at that. The woman was obviously enjoying their conversation and Sarah had the feeling that any minute, the eavesdropper would ask Chuck out herself.

"You're a pretty cool uncle to take a bunch of kids to Monaco," Sarah said.

"I am a _very_ cool uncle," he said, humor coloring his voice. Then his face clouded and grew serious. "My sister's in rehab and my brother-in-law is in jail." This was the part of Charles Charles' backstory Sarah knew he would hate having to recount, but it had to be different from what really happened to them. If Benoit heard about seven kids whose parents had been killed and now lived with their uncle, he could get suspicious. "We needed something to do for the summer to keep the kids occupied, so we've been traveling through Europe."

"That's really sweet of you. It must be pretty expensive traveling with so many people."

He lifted a shoulder. "I'm one of those people that started a software company and got bought out for a gazillion dollars. A rags to riches kind of thing." He talked about it as if it was no big deal. "I can afford it." After a pause, he asked, "What do you do?"

"I'm an independent international business consultant. I try to get venture capitalists to invest in my clients' companies."

"Wow. Impressive." The conversation lulled and she watched him rub his thumb nervously into his palm. It was like he really _was_ Charles Charles and yet he was still her Chuck. All she wanted to do was slip her hand into his.

"Sarah, would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I mean," he began to babble nervously, "us. Have dinner with us."

"You mean you and all the kids?"

"I promised them we'd eat someplace other than the hotel restaurant for dinner tonight." When Sarah hesitated, he sat up straighter and said, "You know what? Never mind. It's crazy for me to ask you to go with a bunch of kids."

Of course she would say yes, but apparently her hesitation was believable because the woman next to her turned toward her and said, "You go with him. He takes care of his sister's kids. Not many men do that." Through her thick Italian accent, Sarah heard the passion in the woman's voice.

Chuck smiled his thanks at the woman. "See? A vote of confidence from an impartial judge."

Sarah couldn't help but grin. She knew firsthand how extraordinary Chuck was and it pleased her when others saw it as well. "Okay. I'll go out with you and all those kids. But Caryn gets to come too."

"I'm not some charity case, Sarah," Carina said with a huff. "I can get my own dates." After a beat, she added, "But I'll make an exception if he'll be there." She jutted her chin toward where Barstow—having finished his laps—and Vegas sat on the edge of the pool, their legs hanging in the water up to their knees. Sarah had felt Barstow staring toward them the entire time. Well, staring at Carina and her tiny black bikini, anyway. "The one in the Wayfarers," the redhead clarified.

Chuck turned around, glanced over at the two men and waved. "Who, Scott? Yeah, he'll be there. They both will. And Casey, too."

"Casey?" Sarah asked.

"The manny."

"Right."

With a hopeful smile, he asked, "Meet us in the lobby at seven?"

"Okay," she answered, her voice soft. "We'll be there."

His smile turned heart stopping. "Great. See you then."

He was obviously about to stand up and return to the pool when Sarah said, "Hey! You never told me your other pick up line."

The smile faded and his whole demeanor softened. Lowering his voice, he said, "You're so beautiful, you made me forget my pick up line." The intensity in his eyes made her cheeks burn hot. Then a mischievous smile bloomed on his face.

Coming out of her daze, she snickered and said, "I see what you did there."

He bounced his eyebrows a couple of times in response and then stood. "See you at seven," he said and returned to the pool, giving her another chance to admire him.

Before Sarah and Carina could say anything, the eavesdropping woman spoke up. "He is a good man. I can tell. You be serious about him."

"I believe you're right about him," Sarah said, turning to the woman and nodding. "And I think I will be."

~ O ~

Sarah was finding it difficult getting ready to go to dinner with the family since she was spending a good chunk of her time carrying on separate text conversations with three of the girls. Lizzie told her she couldn't believe how cute she and Chuck were pretending to just meet. She could almost hear Lizzie's groan from another part of the hotel when Sarah texted back and told her niece how she thought Chuck was _always_ completely adorable. Bridget gushed about how she absolutely _loved_ both Sarah's white bikini and Carina's black one and wanted to know where they bought them when the two women had gone shopping earlier that day. Lisa said she was excited that they were all going to be together for dinner, even if they had to pretend they didn't know her and Carina. Although she didn't hear from the boys or the two youngest, she asked Lizzie to be sure to compliment them on how well they all had performed when pretending not to know her.

She slipped on the leopard print sundress and slid her feet into the flat sandals she'd bought that morning. With the color her skin received being outdoors nearly the entire day, she decided to wear the barest amount of makeup, and only quickly brushed on mascara and swiped on some lipstick. Tilting her head to the side, she was putting on a large gold hoop earring when there was a knock on her door. She checked her watch and saw that it was a few minutes after seven.

"Fashionably late?" Sarah asked after opening the door to find Carina standing there.

"You know I always want to make an entrance," she replied with a smirk as she sauntered into the room and closed the door. "Besides, it's good to keep a man waiting."

"That might be," Sarah said, sliding the door to the balcony closed, "but it's not good to keep seven kids waiting. Kids waiting around get bored and squirrelly. Bored and squirrelly leads to poking, tickling, flicking and pinching, which can quickly escalate to shoving, smacking and occasionally, biting."

Carina grimaced and shuddered. "You make parenthood sounds so glamorous." An eyebrow rose. "I thought your kids were perfect."

"They're the best kids in the world," Sarah said, snatching her purse from the bed, "but they're still kids. Or don't you remember a certain water balloon once launched your way?"

"Oh, yeah. I remember," the other woman said with a chuckle. "That Lisa's a pistol. And Fred beaning that creep with the squishy ball at the pool today? Your kids are lethal when it comes to water-filled weapons of mass destruction."

Laughing, Sarah pulled the door open and said, "I'm sure they'd take that as a compliment."

"They should," Carina replied. They stepped into the hall and Sarah shut the door behind them. Now that they were in public, their conversation couldn't be as open as it had just been. Even so, Sarah knew whom Carina was talking about when she said, "I bet the littlest one could take anyone out at ten paces with a squirt gun."

Sarah felt a surge of pride. Her kids _were_ pretty great and it was gratifying to know her friend knew it, too. "I have no doubt." When she saw Carina smirking at her, she decided to have a little fun. "You know, Ms. I-Can't-Help-It-If-Kids-Love-Me, you could have one, too."

"One what?"

"A kid."

"Me? No way," she said with barked laugh.

"Why not?"

"Because my kid _would_ be perfect, just like me. All the other rugrats would be jealous." She tossed her hair and added, "Plus, the frumpy women in mom-jeans wouldn't like me because I'd be the fabulous mom they wish they were."

"So you're doing the world a favor," Sarah stated, her voice a mixture of sarcasm and humor.

"Yup. What can I say?" she asked with a shrug. "I'm a giver."

Sarah cut her a sly look and said, "Now _that_ I've heard before."

The redhead's eyes flashed with delight as they stepped onto the elevator. "Saucy."

When the two women arrived in the lobby, all eyes turned toward them, including some who weren't even in their group. It was a beautiful summer evening and the doors and windows of the lobby—which was really more like an atrium—were open, allowing a warm breeze to waft through. As Sarah and Carina walked toward the waiting family, their hair was softly tousled in the gentle wind.

Sarah pretended to be nervous and waved tentatively at the kids. "Hi."

She received a chorus of greetings in return. The kids were dressed in nice yet casual clothes. Some still sported wet hair from showers and their skin had a healthy glow after being outside at the pool all afternoon. The faces smiling back at her were filled with excitement and anticipation. Even in their enthusiasm, they did an outstanding job of controlling themselves. Sarah found herself having to fight the urge to give them each a hug.

If the kids looked excited and happy, Chuck looked downright stunned. He stared at his wife, slack-jawed and unblinking. Sarah wondered if his brain had slowed so that when she'd walked toward him with the natural wind machine blowing, she'd gone into slow motion. Regardless, she never got tired of eliciting that reaction from him. Sweeping her gaze over him, she appreciated how very handsome he was in his light blue dress shirt and khaki slacks.

Standing next to Chuck, Lizzie cut her eyes up to her uncle's face. Heaving a sigh, she shook her head and dug her elbow into his side. "Uncle Chuck," she hissed through her smile. "Introduce us." She was playing her part perfectly.

Chuck snapped out of his reverie and said sheepishly, "Hey! Yeah. Sorry." He dropped a hand on Lizzie's shoulder on one side of him and Curtis' shoulder on the other. "Sarah Irving and Caryn Mitchell, these are my nieces and nephews: Lizzie, Fred, Lisa, Curtis, Bridget, Martie and Megan. Kids, I'd like you to meet Ms. Irving and Ms. Mitchell." Each kid gave a small wave as his or her name was called out. Pointing toward the major, he said, "This is John Casey, the kids' nanny."

Sarah barely controlled the laughter gripping her middle when she saw Casey's nostrils flare and the murderous burning in his eyes. After blowing out a breath, he tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Ladies."

"And these two guys are my buddies, Lars Vegas and Scott Barstow."

"Mind if we call you Lars and Scott?" Carina asked, her eyes pinned to Barstow.

"No, not at all," Vegas responded for both himself and his dumbstruck partner. The dark pink spaghetti-strapped number Carina wore had rendered Barstow mute.

"Okay, now that introductions have been made, shall we go? I made reservations for seven-thirty." Chuck asked. He turned and started herding the kids toward the front doors. "I hope you don't mind if we walk to the restaurant. We don't have access to a van to carry us all. We could take the bus, but it's really not that far." Although Graham had provided the other three agents with access to a car, it made sense that Chuck and the kids, as tourists, wouldn't have bothered renting a van since the principality was small enough to easily navigate anywhere they wanted to go on foot or public transportation.

"It's fine with me," Sarah answered. She held back a snort when the kids groaned.

"No more bellyaching or you go straight to bed," Casey said. It seemed like he was going to take his job as the nanny seriously and they immediately clammed up. There wouldn't be any unruly kids that evening.

The group walked on the wide, tree-lined brick sidewalk of _Avenue Princesse Grâce_. To their left, the lowering sun reflected on the water that met the cloudless blue sky in the distance. On the other side of the street, tall buildings and hotels looked out onto the Mediterranean.

They hadn't strolled very far before Megan was up on Chuck's shoulders while Martie rode on Casey's. Carina walked with Barstow and Vegas toward the back of the group while Chuck, Sarah and Casey were at the front.

"So, Frank was it?" Sarah asked, her eyes flashing with glee at her nephew.

"It's Fred, Ms. Irving," he replied. His voice was flat, but behind his neutral expression, his eyes twinkled like she'd rarely seen. The rest of the kids successfully kept grins from their faces. While it probably wasn't strictly necessary at that moment to continue the charade, they did so anyway. It was just another spy skill she could teach the kids; one might come in handy one day. She was really proud of how well they were doing so far.

"Right. Sorry, Fred," Sarah said, acting chagrined. "Anyway, I wanted to compliment you on your impressive throwing arm. You put that ball in the same spot every time. You're an excellent wingman for your uncle. Do you do that for him very often?"

"Nah," Fred answered with a sly grin. "Hardly ever. He's usually oblivious to women. You might not have noticed since you just met him, but he's kind of a giant nerd."

Chuck let out a short laugh and said, "Hey, dude! I'm right here. Not a very cool thing for my wingman to say."

"But you _are_ a nerd, Uncle Chuck," Megan piped up, her voice coming from above his head.

"Fine," Chuck said with a sigh. "Yes, Ms. Irving, I confess. I am a nerd and according to my nieces and nephews, one of gargantuan proportions. If this is an issue for you, I suggest you bail out now before it's too late."

"No, it's okay. I'm willing to give it a try. I've never had dinner with a nerd before. It could be educational. Do you talk about science and stuff?"

"Mostly _Star Wars_, comic books and video games," Curtis answered for him.

"Still making me sound lame, bro," Chuck said.

Sarah laughed at their teasing. She was having so much fun and wanted badly to slip her arm around her husband's waist and walk with him. She pushed the thought to the side, though, knowing their aliases were important. She was thankful to be able to interact with her family at all, even if it was as strangers. Changing the subject, she asked the group, "Other than swimming at the pool today, have you done anything else fun here?"

"Yeah, we went to the aquarium earlier today," Lisa replied.

"That sounds like fun. Did you see anything interesting?" Sarah knew they had gone there while she and Carina were shopping, but hadn't heard any details.

"There were a bunch of really big fish tanks," Martie said from her perch on Casey's shoulders.

"Of course there were fish tanks, Martie. It's an aquarium," Curtis said.

Apparently, "Manny" Casey didn't appreciate Curtis' mildly snarky tone. "Be nice to your sister," the big man said, giving the boy a glare that could melt steel.

Sarah half-expected a sharp, "Yes, Drill Sergeant!" from Curtis. Instead he offered an embarrassed, "Sorry, Martie." He received a shove on the back of his head from his oldest sister for good measure. Of all the kids, Martie was the one who usually wasn't part of the constant teasing that went on between the siblings. She was always so sweet to everyone, that when a barb was sent her way, the rest turned protective of her.

"Thanks," came the quiet response from high above.

Knowing it was best to quickly move on, Sarah asked Martie, "What did you see you liked the best?"

"I liked the clownfish hiding in the anemone like _Nemo_," the little girl answered.

"I like _Nemo_, too. 'Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming,'" Sarah sang. "Although, it was Dory who sang that and she wasn't a clownfish."

Grinning, Chuck said, "You know about _Finding Nemo_?"

"Of course! I don't live under a rock, you know," she said with a smirk. She was finding it was so much easier to make a good "first impression" on the kids now that she'd actually been living with them for a year.

"The shark tank at the aquarium was really cool," Bridget said. "We watched a diver wipe the inside of it with a cloth."

"He didn't get bit or lose an arm or anything, though," Fred said. He sounded a little disappointed by that.

"You're a troll," Bridget said to her brother, shaking her head in amusement. He only laughed in response.

"We also went to the palace and watched the changing of the guard," Lisa informed her. "They had a brass band that marched around. It was pretty cool."

"Buckingham Palace was better, though," Bridget said. "It was bigger and we got to see the queen's arm."

"Just her arm?" Sarah asked. "Where was the rest of her?"

Megan giggled and with wide, blue eyes, looked down at Sarah from her high perch and said, "You're silly."

She considered being called "silly" by a six year-old a great accomplishment. "Thank you, Megan."

Soon they reached the restaurant. It wasn't part of the more touristy section of town, and from the outside, it was small and unassuming. The inside was nice without being too fancy. It was perfect for a large group with seven kids.

As with anywhere they went, they garnered curious stares from those around them. And as was usually the case in any restaurant they patronized, several tables had to be pushed together to accommodate their large party.

Sarah stood by with Carina and watched Chuck and Casey make sure the kids sat next to someone that would allow for the least amount of poking, prodding or teasing. She usually was involved with that, but Sarah Irving was a guest. Of course, if there was to be no poking or teasing, she shouldn't have been seated next to Carina. Any time more wine was poured into anyone's glass, Carina kicked her under the table and smirked. Sarah just rolled her eyes at her friend and sipped her iced tea.

As she interacted with Chuck who sat on the other side of her, she concentrated on being Sarah Irving, a woman who had just met Charles Charles earlier in the day and not Sarah Bartowski, out for a fun evening with her husband and family. But since the two were on a "date", even if it was with eleven other people, she allowed herself to flirt with him a little and lightly touch his arm when she laughed at his jokes.

She noticed Carina was taking full advantage of having Barstow next to her on the other side. Sarah knew Carina was on her best behavior around the kids, but that didn't keep the redhead from flirting with Scott and having a hand somewhere on him most of the time.

The kids didn't seem bothered by Carina's interactions with Barstow at all. At one point in the evening when the older ones glanced at each other with amusement, Sarah leaned forward and looked past Carina at Scott. The look on his face was priceless. He was clearly both enthralled by and terrified of Carina at the same time. Sarah was pretty sure the kids were just relieved that Carina was expending her energy on Barstow and leaving Chuck alone. One glance Casey's way told her he was glad he wasn't in Carina's sights either.

The evening was filled with food, drink, fun and laughter and other than a piece of croissant being thrown at Fred's head, the kids behaved beautifully. Before they knew it, it was nearly ten o'clock. Sarah noticed that all the kids were getting tired, especially Martie and Megan who were nearly asleep in their chairs. Heads together, she and Chuck had a short conversation where she advised him it would be best to call taxis to take them back to the hotel since the night buses could take a while.

The bill was paid and everyone filed out onto the sidewalk to wait. Within a few minutes, the taxis arrived and they all began to load into the cars. Carina and Barstow stood talking next to the one he would be riding in while Chuck held the door open for Sarah to get into his. "Thank you, Chuck, but Caryn and I aren't going back to the hotel quite yet. We're going to head off to some clubs."

It broke her heart to see the conflicted and disappointed look that flashed on his face. She knew he wanted to go with her, but the kids needed him and she and Carina needed to continue to be out in public. Even if they couldn't flat out ask about Benoit, others might be talking about him and they had to pick up any intel they could. And as much as she wanted him to be with her, they had already spent most of the evening together and their public relationship needed to remain casual.

She and Chuck stood on the sidewalk next to the taxi as people streamed past them toward the Irish pub next door to the restaurant. "Thank you for a lovely evening," she said. "Your nieces and nephews are very sweet and I had a nice time getting to know them." Gazing into his eyes, it was becoming harder and harder to leave.

He must have seen what she was feeling. She watched his face change from disappointment to determination. "We'll be here for a few more days and I'd really like to see you again. Would that be okay?"

He was so earnest and sweet and it suddenly hit her that the whole scene was kind of surreal. They were married to each other and yet, in a way, it felt like a real first date. They'd never really had one. The circumstances in which they'd met and fell in love were so extraordinary, they didn't have any semblance of a traditional courtship. They'd lived together in the same house since the day she met him. There was never "Can I call you sometime?" or a good night kiss at her door. They never went out on a real date until after they were already engaged.

"I'd like that." She took a Sarah Irving business card from her purse and handed it to him. "This has my cell. Call me."

"I will," he replied, wearing a pleased smile.

"Good night," she said. Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed him on the cheek and breathed a nearly silent, "I love you." She stepped back before he could reply, but that was okay. She didn't need to hear the same words from him in return. She could see it in his eyes. She always did.

"Good night," he said. He ducked into the back seat of the cab and closed the door. Sarah turned just in time to see Barstow jump into the front seat of the taxi that would carry the boys, Vegas and him back to the hotel.

Carina sauntered over to where Sarah stood as they watched the cars drive off and said, "Scottie wanted to come along with us. He said we needed a third."

Sarah knew he meant he wanted to go as backup, but it really wasn't necessary. They weren't going on a mission. This was primarily recon. If they made contact with someone from Benoit's team that evening, all the better. "We're just going clubbing," she answered. They climbed into the last cab waiting and Sarah instructed the driver to take them to Port Hercule.

"That's what I told him. He's just being paranoid."

"After what happened in Prague, I can't really blame him." Underscoring that point, both she and Carina wore Casey's trackers just in case.

Earlier in the day, they had planned out their strategy for their attempt to make contact with Benoit or his men. They weren't sure when Benoit would come to Monte Carlo and if he didn't arrive until right before the gambling was to begin, their plan was dead in the water. Neither Sarah nor Carina really believed he would show up without some kind of advance recon work done by one or more of his men so they decided to move forward.

Knowing there were a lot of bars and clubs in Monaco, they had to be strategic about how they wanted to proceed. Since Carina pointed out that Henri was "no spring chicken and neither were his closest lieutenants," they decided not to bother with the super trendy places. They also weren't going to be dressed appropriately for the more sophisticated places in and around the casino after dinner with the kids, so they decided hit those locations the next night if they didn't make contact this evening.

There were several bars that seemed like the kinds of places men like Benoit might frequent right along the Port Hercule. It also made sense to be near the port since they believed he was on a yacht. The chances of it actually entering the harbor proper was next to nil—it would be much safer for Benoit to stay a bit off the coast—but they would still have to take a boat in from the yacht. These establishments would be the first places they would visit.

The cab dropped them off outside a brewery/restaurant called Brasserie de Monaco. As it turned out, it wasn't quite as sedate as they expected it to be. Out front, a DJ played music while young people danced to the pulsating beat. Others sat at tables and drank under large square awnings. Sarah and Carina cruised through the outside party, but when it became clear they wouldn't find who they were looking for there, they went inside.

They shouldered their way through the crowd, their eyes scanning faces to find anyone they recognized. Heads turned their way to check them out as they moved through the different rooms, but there was never any recognition. After a trip to the bar where Carina bought one of the beers on tap and Sarah got a sparkling water, they found a couple of open seats near the large metallic cylinders where the beer was being brewed and sat.

"You're not obvious or anything," Carina said, dipping her head towards Sarah's glass.

"What? I can't be the only person here not drinking beer."

Carina gave her a dubious look and then looked around the room. "No, I think you _are_ the only one. What do you expect? It's a brewery."

"Maybe I just don't like beer." Frowning, Sarah asked, "Are you going to make a comment every time I drink something non-alcoholic?"

Carina's features became serious. "Sarah, I'm not going to lie to you. Yes. Yes, I am." Then she tapped her glass against Sarah's and took a swallow of her beer.

Sarah could only chuckle and shake her head. At least she knew what was in store for her the rest of the night.

They spent the next hour chatting and listening in on conversations, moving from bar to table to booth. The people around them talked about what they'd done that day, their plans for the next, the hideous clothes other people wore, who seemed to be looking to hook up or loudly declaring how drunk they were. When the sixth guy wanting to chat them up approached, Sarah swore to herself she wouldn't do this again without Chuck being with her. She'd be sure to keep up the pretense of a casual relationship with him, but having him there with her would make it easier on so many levels. Besides, not being with him reminded her of how much she relied on him and missed him when he wasn't there.

When they felt like they'd given the brewery a chance, but in the end struck out, they left it and walked to another club next door. Billed as a soul and Motown restaurant and club, Black Legend had live bands that played covers of classic and contemporary rhythm and blues. The décor was that of a 1970's New York disco, complete with a dance floor made up of large, colorful flashing tiles. Posters of Diana Ross, Aretha Franklin, the Jackson Five and other Motown artists graced the walls. Carina had been in it once before for dinner and thought it might be a place Benoit's men could go. By the time the two women arrived, however, the live band was just finishing up their set with a faithful version of Prince's _Kiss._ It was only a few minutes later that the restaurant was transformed into a club.

As they had done at the previous establishment, Sarah and Carina strolled through the place to see and be seen. Reaching the bar, Sarah ordered a virgin mojito. When Carina raised an eyebrow at her, Sarah defended herself. "What? I'm tired of straight mineral water."

"No, it's not that," Carina said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the recording of Marvin Gaye crooning, _Let's Get it On._ "Think of the reason why you're ordering a _virgin_ drink." A wicked grin overtook her face. "Ironic, right?" She turned to the bartender and said, "This non-virgin will have a non-virgin mojito." When the bartender smiled and nodded, she winked at him and purred, "You know what, handsome? Take the rum you didn't put in her drink and add it to mine."

"_Oui, mademoiselle_," he replied. His smile widened, obviously enjoying Carina as a customer.

"I regret telling you the truth," Sarah informed her friend. "I should have lied and told you I'm a recovering alcoholic."

"I wouldn't have believed you. We did tequila shooters at the Rusty Spittoon three months ago."

"Maybe it was sitting in the Eagle County jail that sent me into a tailspin and I hit rock bottom."

Carina laughed. "Yeah. Your life sucks really hard."

"Touché," Sarah said with a smirk. She paid for the two drinks when the bartender, giving Carina another smile, placed them on the bar. They carried their glasses through the lounge, always scanning faces as they moved along and eventually sat in a couple of large leather chairs.

They both were enjoying the music—it was Motown night after all—and soon were out on the _Saturday Night Fever_-like dance floor. Sarah had fun dancing since it was so packed that people weren't necessarily dancing with anyone in particular. As usual, several men tried to talk to her, but out on the dance floor, she could simply shrug and feign that she couldn't hear them over the music.

When they got hot and thirsty, or when the song turned slow, they returned to their seats and polished off their drinks. They stayed for another hour and a half and after several more rounds of dancing and drinks and still not hearing or seeing anyone connected with Benoit, decided it was time to move on to check out the last club.

It had started to feel hot and close inside, so once they exited, the night air was refreshing. Glancing at her watch, she couldn't believe it was one-thirty and they still had one more place to go. With all the late nights she'd been having, she was going to need a vacation after her vacation.

As they neared a restaurant and bar at the hairpin turn on the circuit of the famous Monaco Grand Prix, La Rascasse, they heard the familiar thumping of loud club music coming from inside the building.

"I'm think we're just wasting our time," Sarah said. She was getting tired and really just wanted to go to bed.

"When did you turn into a sixty year-old hausfrau who's in bed by nine?" Carina snarked. "Besides, how can clubbing ever be a waste of time?"

"You know what I mean. Unless we get really lucky at this place, we know we'll probably have to go out again tomorrow night. Let's just check it out quickly and if it's a bust, we call a cab."

Carina shrugged. "Okay. It's your show."

Once inside, it was the same thing they had found at the previous two clubs: loud music, a dance floor packed with people and the ever-present flashing lights. Scanning the room, Sarah also saw that the people they were running across were becoming more and more drunk. They didn't even bother buying drinks and were about to call a cab when Sarah noticed Carina tense.

"What?" Sarah asked in a low voice and followed Carina's gaze across the crowded room. It fell on a handsome and stylish man who looked to about thirty years old standing at the bar. His full attention was on the pretty brunette he was talking to. He smiled at the young lady, leaned forward and put his mouth to her ear. Both were laughing when he pulled his head back and stared into the woman's face. She slapped him on the arm with a flirty hand and then let it rest on his chest. There was some major flirting going on.

"The guy trying to get into the pretty brunette's pants is Henri's computer nerd," Carina said. "Jean, Jacques, Gilles. Something like that." She waved a dismissive hand. "I never paid much attention to him."

"Do you think he would have gone with Henri when he cleared out of Paris?"

Carina shrugged. "Maybe. He also might be here because the boss-man asked to come meet up with him since he'll be in Monte Carlo. It might be a coincidence and he doesn't even know Henri will be in town."

"Well, whichever it is, I want to talk to him." They had just started to push their way through the crowd when Sarah saw their target lean forward again and say something to the young woman. She nodded in response. He took her by the hand, turned and led her toward the far end of the bar. "Crap," Sarah grumbled. In a louder voice, she said, "He sealed the deal with the brunette and now they're on the move."

The two agents began to shove their way through the crowd more forcefully. Sarah looked in Carina's direction when she heard a commotion. Carina had used her forearm against the back of a young woman as she tried to make a path. The nudge sent the already unsteady girl lurching forward. The bodies packed like sardines on the dance floor helped to keep her from falling. Tipsy Girl whirled on the redhead, her face twisted with drunken rage. She screamed in French, "Don't touch me, bitch!" and flew at the DEA agent like she was going to scratch her eyes out.

Carina made a quarter turn, raised her forearm to protect herself and caught Tipsy Girl—who even in her heels was at least four inches shorter than Carina—in the chest. The girl bounced off her arm and fell back. Sensing trouble, people had moved away to give the two women a wide berth. So this time when Tipsy Girl fell, there was no one to catch her. She landed rather ungracefully on her butt.

Towering over her foe, Carina growled, "You want a piece of me, bitch? Get off your sorry ass and try again."

Knowing a trip to jail was once again a real possibility, as well as needing Carina along to talk to Jean-Jacques-Gilles, Sarah sprang into action. She stepped in front of her friend and said to Tipsy Girl still sprawled on the floor, "Sorry." Then she grabbed Carina by the wrist and hauled her off in the direction their guy had gone. Between the intensity burning on Sarah's face—she did not want to lose a chance to talk to one of Benoit's men—and the way everyone had seen Carina lay the girl out without a hair going out of place, people parted like the Red Sea to make way for the two striking and intimidating women.

Sarah surveyed the room as she and Carina walked the open path across the dance floor toward where they believed Jean-Jacques-Gilles and the brunette were headed. Her jaw clenched when she couldn't locate either of them.

Head swiveling back and forth, she snapped at Carina, "I don't see them. Do you?"

"No." Carina's eyes never stopped moving as her gaze swept the room. Jerking her head toward a hallway, she said, "Maybe they ducked into a room behind one of these doors for a groping session."

Sarah nodded and said, "Good thought. You take the doors on the left side and I'll take the right." That would give her the men's room and two other doors while Carina needed to check the ladies' room and one other. There was also one final door directly opposite them at the end of the hall. Before she went into the men's room, she flipped her hair to one side, tousled it and let her eyelids droop. After a deep breath, she pushed the door open and staggered in. Acting like she didn't even realize her mistake, she headed for one of the stalls and pushed on the door. Empty of an occupant, it swung open. There were several guys standing at urinals, and since they were apparently mid-stream, unable to do anything other than turn their heads to glance over their shoulders at her. While one of the men said, "Hey, you aren't supposed to be in here," the rest seemed unfazed by her sudden arrival. Another grinned at her lasciviously and called out, "Hey, gorgeous. Come here and check me out."

The very thought nearly made her gag. Instead, she slowly dropped her chin to her chest and peered at them sluggishly from under heavy lids. "What're y'all doing in the ladies' room?" she slurred in English. All the men laughed except for the first one who spoke to her. "You're in the men's toilet," he said in English, clearly exasperated.

"I am?" She swung her head back and forth, pretending to barely be able to keep her eyes open. There was no sign of Jean-Jacques-Gilles or the brunette. Swaying slightly, she ran a hand through her hair and scratched her head. "All the signs are in French." With a giggle, she added, "I flunked French." She heaved a sigh, turned and stumbled out the door, the sound of the men's laughter trailing out behind her.

Once out of the men's room, she hurried to the next door and opened it. Peering inside, it was full of cleaning supplies, mops and brooms, but devoid of people. She closed the door quickly and headed toward the third door as Carina exited the ladies' room.

"Anything?" Sarah asked as she took the doorknob in her hand.

"Nope." Carina opened the other door on her side of the hall and poked her head in. Closing it again, she said, "Empty. No supply closet sex." She sounded disappointed.

Sarah tried to open the last door, but found it locked. Pressing her ear against the door, she listened for any sounds coming from the other side of it.

"I didn't know you were such a voyeur, Sarah. I approve."

Sarah pushed away from the door and shook her head. "There's nobody in there."

Together, they went to the door at the end of the hall. "Outside?" Carina asked.

"Probably." Sarah swung the door open and saw that they were right. It led to the outside darkness. A streetlight illuminated a nearby parking lot. "Crap," she grumbled in frustration, not for the first time that night. "I bet they left." Closing the door she said, "I don't want to give up yet. Let's check through the place once more. Maybe we missed him and he's still out there."

Carina shrugged. "Okay by me. I never say no to hanging longer at a club." They strode down the hall and, ignoring the smirk of the man exiting the men's toilet, rejoined the mob in the main room. For the next ten minutes they wandered through the place, searching for Benoit's computer man but coming up empty. They only garnered a few fearful glances from those who had witnessed the earlier skirmish.

When it became clear they weren't going to find the man they were looking for, Sarah said, "He's gone. Let's get out of here." She took her phone from her purse and called a cab to take them back to the hotel.

Waiting outside for their taxi, Sarah mused, "Well, it didn't turn out to be a complete waste of time after all. Although we didn't get a chance to talk to Jean-Jacques-Gilles, at least we know one guy connected with Benoit is in town. Of course, we don't know if he came with Benoit or not, but it's better than nothing."

"He might have given us something, but I still think who we really need to talk to are the men we're pretty sure have been with Henri all along."

Sarah nodded thoughtfully. "When we go out tomorrow night, or tonight I guess since it's now Friday, we'll go earlier in the evening. I think that's a more likely time when Henri or his guys will be out, don't you?"

"Yeah." Carina smiled, "Other than losing that one guy, we did have fun tonight."

The car pulled up and Sarah opened the door to let Carina climb in the back seat first. "We did," Sarah said with a smile. She slipped in the back seat after her and closed the door as Carina told the driver where to take them. "There truly is no one better to go clubbing with than you."

As the taxi sped off, Carina asked, "Better than with the nerd?"

Sarah raised a shoulder and let it drop. "Yeah. He doesn't thrive on it like you do." She cut her eyes at her friend and smirked. "Besides, there are other things I'd rather do with my nerd than go to clubs."

"And there it is," Carina said, her voice dry like a desert. "Am I gonna have to stand guard outside your door tonight to make sure you stay where you're supposed to?"

"No, I can control myself. Besides, who's to say I shouldn't be standing outside your door to make sure you don't sneak out to see Scott?"

Carina squinted at her and then shrugged. "Good point. What's the plan for tomorrow?"

"We still don't know if our boy is in town yet or not," Sarah said vaguely as she eyed the driver. "But he's got to show up pretty soon. We're nearly positive he won't moor his boat in the marina, so he'll be out off the coast. How about you and I go out on the water and do a little fishing?"

"I'm all for that," Carina said, the smile evident in her voice. "But please promise it will only be after we sleep in. You know how grumpy I can be in the mornings."

Sarah dug her teeth into her lip to keep from laughing when she saw the cab driver's widened eyes in the rear view mirror. "Yes, I know," she said.

They were quiet for the remainder of the short drive to the hotel. Sarah was tired and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. No, that wasn't quite right. What she really wanted to do was crawl in bed with _her husband_ and sleep, but sadly, that was not to be. If this helped keep the kids safe and eventually led to Benoit's capture, it would be worth it. It didn't mean she had to like it, though.

The lobby was still brightly lit when they entered after paying the cab driver. They cruised past the front desk, took the elevator to their floor and walked down the hall to their rooms. After a quiet "Good night" to Carina, Sarah slipped into her room. Silvery light filtering into the room through the sliding glass door helped her navigate until she found a lamp to switch on.

She gasped when she looked up and saw two dozen long-stemmed red roses perfectly arranged in a tall crystal vase. Her heart thumped wildly as she slowly, almost reverently, approached the small table upon which the flowers sat. She moved her face closer to the red buds, closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet aroma of roses. Opening them again, she found a small envelope leaning against the base of the vase with "Sarah Irving" and her room number written on the front.

Picking up the envelope, she opened the flap and slid out a small card. She smiled when she saw Chuck's handwriting. "Dinner tomorrow night?" it read. "No kids this time. ILY2, C. P.S. They were out of gardenias."

"That's okay, Chuck," she said in the quiet. "Red roses are pretty great, too." She really was married to the sweetest man in the world. She set the card on the table, took her phone and sent him a text, thanking him for the flowers and accepting his invitation. She knew he was asleep, but she didn't want to wait until morning.

How he managed to get the flowers and card delivered to her room at that time of night, she had no idea, but knew he was a very resourceful guy. He had managed to arrange their dinner and opera date in Berlin in only a few hours, so she wasn't really surprised by this.

Staring at the roses, she had to call on every ounce of self-control to keep from marching to his room, pounding on his door, dragging him back to hers and doing things to him that would make the fireworks he saw the other morning in Moscow seem like backyard sparklers.

She blew out a frustrated breath and corralled her wayward thoughts. It was impossible for many reasons, which ranged from him not being able to leave the girls alone in the room they all shared to the security cameras in the hotel hallways that would record their clandestine meeting.

Instead, she put on her Stanford t-shirt and not even bothering to take off her makeup, flopped facedown on the mattress and immediately fell asleep. In her slumber, her corralled thoughts broke free. Her dreams were filled with her and Chuck together and infused with the sweet aroma of roses.


	45. Good Day Sunshine

**A/N: **What is this sorcery? A chapter of mine less than ten thousand words? 'Tis true. If you'll recall from my previous A/N, chapter 44 was split and this chapter is the continuation. Think of the two chapters together as the official director's cut extended dance remix version.

Thank you, as always for your kind words of support for this story and me. Please, keep them coming. Thank you, too, to those of you who have been so encouraging to me in the last couple of weeks. Real life hit hard and things have gone a bit wonky. The good news is, we're beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel. The bad news is, it might be an oncoming train.

As always, **AgentInWaiting** did a stellar job betaing this chapter. There is a particular article of clothing I included in this chapter at his request. Be sure to thank him.

Finally, twenty-one years ago today, I married my sweet, wonderful guy. We'll be celebrating at a locale featured in this story. I'll leave it up to you to figure out which one.

**Chapter 45 – Good Day Sunshine**

When Sarah awoke, she found herself in the exact same position she had been in when she fell asleep—facedown on the bed. Rolling over, she blinked a couple of times and then regretted opening her eyes at all. Dry and gritty, her eyelids seemed to stick to, rather than glide over, her eyes like they were supposed to. After giving herself a couple of minutes to let the fog lift from her brain, she sat up. When she felt the dull headache and vaguely sick feeling in her stomach, she collapsed flat on the mattress again. Since she hadn't drunk any alcohol the night before, she knew she wasn't hung over. Yet she felt like she'd been downing tequila shots all night.

Glancing at the clock and seeing that it was only seven o'clock in the morning, she knew the hangover-like symptoms were due to fatigue. She was out of practice staying out late every night and it was beginning to wear her down. After a quick trip to the bathroom, on her way back to bed she stopped at the room's minibar to snag a bottle of water. Seeing the bottles of alcohol made her grimace and her throat close off. Strangely, though, the small box of crackers in the snack basket on top of the counter seemed to call to her. Not caring that it would probably add ten euros to her room's tab, she tore open the box and popped a wafer in her mouth.

After munching on a half dozen crackers and chasing them down with water, she started to feel human again, but nevertheless exhausted. Since it was still early and she had only slept for a few hours, she crawled back under the covers, curled into a ball and went back to sleep.

The jingle of her ringing phone woke her again three hours later. Lifting it from the nightstand, she opened an eye and saw Chuck's picture. She flicked at the screen with her thumb and put the phone on her ear. "Good morning," she rasped. Her vocal cords seemed to have rusted.

"Good morning, beautiful," Chuck said. His voice caressed her over the phone. "Sounds like I woke you. I'm sorry, honey, it's just that we're all heading out in a few minutes and I wanted to give you a call when we were both in our rooms and could talk."

She rose up on an elbow. "No, don't be sorry. I'm glad you called. I miss you." Still sounding gravelly, she cleared her throat.

He heaved a sigh at his end of the phone and said, "I miss you, too."

"Thank you for my beautiful flowers," she said when her gaze landed on the roses on the table. "It was a lovely surprise when I got back here last night."

"You're welcome. I wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed our first date."

She smiled. "You noticed it too?"

"Yeah. It was kind of weird and awesome at the same time." After a pause, he asked, "So, will you have dinner with me tonight?" There was a hint of uncertainty as if he was afraid she might say no.

"Hmmm. I guess," she said, a tease coloring her voice. She rearranged her pillows and leaned back against them. It was amazing what an additional three hours of sleep had done for her. She felt so much better. "We'll probably have to mix business and pleasure, though."

"Didn't make contact last night?"

"No," she answered. "Carina recognized Benoit's computer guy at one of the clubs, but we lost him before we could talk to him. We don't know if he's been with Benoit or not, so we might not have gotten any intel even if we had caught up to him." Doubt and frustration churned in her middle. "Chuck, I'm not sure this plan is going to work. What if we never get a chance to talk to any of Benoit's men? What if Benoit sneaks in and out of the casino and we never even see him? He could get back on his boat and sail off." She finally put to words the concern that had been nagging at her.

"Then we deal with it and move on."

"But your parents—"

"—are alive and well and that's all that matters right now. It won't be the end of the world if all of this doesn't get settled this weekend."

"But the kids—"

"The kids will be fine. The kids _are_ fine. There are a lot of kids that only get to see their grandparents once or twice a year. That might be them, that's all. They don't see Devon's parents all the time," he pointed out.

"That's true."

"Sweetheart, please don't put too much pressure on yourself. I know you want to catch Benoit for a bunch of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that he's an international criminal wanted by half the world, including your own agency. It's because of you that we're as close as we are and right now you're doing everything you can. Give yourself a break, okay?"

He was right. She was doing everything she could. "Okay," she answered softly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." His tone was loving and gentle. Silence ensued until he asked, "If dinner tonight is mission related, where should we go? And by 'we' I assume Carina will be there, too?"

"Mm-hmm. And Barstow. Carina refuses to be a third wheel."

"Fair enough."

"She and I ended up going trendy last night, but we think the guys we really need to talk to won't hang out at places like that. Tonight we need to go upscale. I'll make the reservations and let you know what time."

"I get the feeling there'll be a dress code if we go upscale."

In the background, she heard a happy shout and clapping when Chuck said the words, "dress code."

Laughing, Sarah said, "Let me guess. Bridget?"

He gusted an amused sigh. "Yeah. We were already going to go walk around the _Place du Casino_ today. We wanted to check things out over there and let Bridget window shop at the expensive boutiques. Now she has a gleam in her eye. Should I be worried?"

"Welcome to my world, Bartowski," Sarah heard Casey snark gleefully.

"If Casey survived a Bridget Woodcomb makeover, so can you. I can't wait to see what she ends up picking out for you."

"Who says I'll let her dress me up?" In the dead silence, Sarah could picture the raised eyebrow and the "you're kidding, right?" look their niece was giving him. "Yeah, okay. I'll totally let her dress me up." He snickered. "She'll really launch into orbit when she finds out she'll get to work over Scott, too." Sarah smiled when she heard another hoot from Bridget. "What about you? Will you wear the blue dress you wore to the opera?" Chuck asked.

She scrunched her face in thought. "No, I don't think so. It's a little too formal." She needed to scour through her luggage. "I'll figure out something."

"Okay. So, you know what our plans are this morning. What are you up to today?"

"I need to check in with Graham and catch up on some reports. I haven't heard from Carina yet, so I assume she's still asleep. We'll probably get a bite to eat here at the hotel and then spend the afternoon at the beach. Maybe Charles Charles and company can run into us. I'll be wearing another one of my new bikinis." She paused for effect. "It's green."

There was a sharp intake of air. "Guh—green?" He sounded like his brain had completely derailed.

"Mm-hmm."

"I… I like green. What… um, what kind of green? Like Kermit the Frog green? Not… not that that would be bad, though, 'cause, you know, it's _you_… in a _bikini_… not because I have strong feelings about Kermit the Frog one way or… 'cause any color would be…" He paused and then said, "You can stop my babbling anytime."

Grinning into the phone, she said, "Not a chance. You're too adorable when you get all flustered."

"Mm-hmm. I'm going to get you back one day, just so you know, and it'll be when you least expect it."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"You don't believe me, but I will. And you still haven't answered my question."

She stared at the bikini draped across the back of one of the chairs. "It's definitely not Kermit the Frog green. Bridget would know what to call it better than me, but I'm going to go with pine green."

He sighed. "My favorite shade of green."

"You don't even know what that looks like, do you?" she asked with a short laugh.

"Not a clue. Doesn't matter. Like I said, it's _you_ in a _bikini_."

It hurt how much she missed him. "So I guess we'll see you at the beach later?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Great." She smiled into the phone. "Have fun this morning and I'll see you later."

"Okay. Bye. I love you."

"I love you, too. Bye."

She ended the call, dropped the phone on the mattress and let out a contented breath. _Now_ she could start her day.

~ O ~

Sarah checked the clock on the nightstand. It was twelve-thirty. She was scheduled to meet Carina at one of the hotel's outdoor cafés for lunch in half an hour and then head straight for the beach. She'd just finished putting on her bikini and as she tied a colorful scarf around her hips as a cover up, she figured out that it was six-thirty in the morning in D.C. Director Graham would certainly be awake and might even be in his office, once again assuming he ever left it. Either way, it was the perfect time to call him.

"Good morning, Agent Walker," he said when he answered after the first ring. "Or I guess I should say 'afternoon' where you are."

"Good morning, Director. I hope I didn't call too early."

"Not at all. I'm on my way into the office as we speak. I want to get inside before the heat and humidity take over."

That was certainly something she didn't miss about summers in D.C. "An excellent plan, sir."

"Yes. How are things in Monte Carlo? Have you made any contact with Benoit or any of his associates?"

"No, I'm sorry to say we haven't. Agent Miller and I went to several clubs last night hoping to run into Benoit's men. At one of them, she recognized Benoit's computer guy. We lost him in the crowd before we could intercept him."

"That's disappointing."

"Yes, sir. It was. However, Agent Miller wasn't sure he would have been much help since she wasn't convinced he would have been one of the men Benoit would have taken with him when he went underground. We're still hoping to make contact with Benoit himself or at least one of his closest advisors."

"Perhaps you should spend some time inside the casino. I should think his security men will have to be there at some point and they could see you there."

"Yes, we considered that too, sir, but see it as a last resort. If we push too hard, if it's somehow not perceived as a coincidence that Agent Miller and I are in Monte Carlo at the same time Benoit is, it could spook him and he disappears. We're hoping he comes to us. Agent Miller and I will be checking out the yachts anchored along the coast today. We'll be going into Monte Carlo tonight for dinner. If we don't see Benoit or any of his men today, we'll be sure to be at the casino tomorrow. However, nothing is guaranteed. Our concern is that since he'll be in a private room and if security sneaks him in, we may not see him at all."

"Good point. Proceed with your plans for the rest of the day. Speaking of yachts, we've tasked an agency satellite to track all yachts and other boats in the area for the next several days. We'll check registrations and see if we can track down which one is Benoit's."

"That might prove difficult if he used an unknown alias to register it."

"Agreed. Also, I wanted to let you know that in addition to Sarah Irving's business website, we've developed and updated her pages on various social media sites. And of course the DEA has continued to update Agent Miller's 'Caryn Mitchell' Facebook page these past months."

"Sounds good, sir." She'd have to check out her alter ego's Facebook page to see what she'd been up to lately. "I'll be sure to forward some pictures of Agent Miller here in Monte Carlo that can be added."

"Good. Also, given that Mr. Bartowski might fall under scrutiny, we've uploaded a page for Charles Charles on the website of the corporation that purchased his software company. He is a major shareholder and a member of the board of directors. There's also a Wikipedia page about him that, among other things, reinforces the fact that he zealously protects his privacy. There will be no Facebook or other social media pages. Other than using the same wide picture on both sites where we've Photoshopped him standing with Barstow and Vegas, there will be no other photos posted."

"Thank you, sir. We certainly don't want Chuck's face plastered all over the Internet."

"No, we don't." After a pause, he asked, "Do you have anything else to report, Agent Walker?"

She quickly ran through everything they had discussed in her mind. "No sir. I think we've covered all of it."

"Very good. Keep me apprised of any new developments." With that, the call ended.

She spent the rest of her time before lunch, looking over Sarah Irving's and Caryn Mitchell's Facebook pages as well as the information on Charles Charles. Everything on Chuck's pages was exactly the educational and professional backstory he had memorized. There was no mention of his family or personal life, other than where he was born and grew up, with a note that he was a very private person. It was stated that he was unmarried, but didn't mention his nieces and nephews at all. The agency techs had done an excellent job on Charles Charles' and Chuck Bartowski's behalf.

Checking her own pages, the business site for her consulting firm hadn't changed much since the agency had designed it before her mission to Benoit's house in Paris in March. The techs must have had fun working on Sarah Irving's Facebook page, though. Ms. Irving was a workaholic and because of that, hadn't been in a relationship with anyone in quite some time. She worked mostly in the States with occasional trips to Europe and Asia. The techs had Photoshopped pictures of her at various business functions, including her playing softball at the company picnic of one of her best clients. They had accounted for every detail, down to Sarah Irving and Caryn Mitchell becoming "friends" soon after they "met" at Benoit's party. Now that she and Caryn were on vacation in Monte Carlo, she would be sure to take some pictures to post on her page.

She couldn't help but chuckle when she skimmed Caryn Mitchell's page. It didn't look much different than what she imagined Carina Miller's real Facebook page would look like. Nearly every picture was of her, champagne glass in hand, at a late night party in the hottest spots in the U.S. and Europe.

"Speaking of Carina," she said quietly to herself. It was time to meet her friend for lunch. After pulling on a cotton top, she shut down her laptop and stored it away. As she slung her beach bag over a shoulder, she had to admit to herself that it was days like this that made her really love her job.

~ O ~

Sarah lay flat on her stomach on one of the many lounge chairs set up in a long row on the hotel's private beach. The strong summer afternoon sun heated her back and although the sea breeze blowing across her skin kept her from completely scorching, it felt like it was time to cool off.

Flipping over, she sat up and said to Carina baking on the lounge chair next to her, "I'm going to go take a dip and cool off."

"Thinking about your nerdy stud got you all hot and bothered?"

"Yup," she said without hesitation. "I think I'll grab him, haul him into the water with me so we can frolic. I know how badly you want to watch us frolic." She chuckled when she saw Carina shudder. "Maybe we'll get into a water fight before we make out for everyone on the beach to see." While she was teasing Carina, when the pictures of those things popped into her head, it actually kind of did get her hot and bothered.

"Oh God, Sarah. How did you get to be so evil?"

"Hanging out with you." With an arched eyebrow, she added, "Besides, you started it."

Huffing a breath, Carina admitted, "I did." She readjusted her sunglasses and stared toward the water. "Beware, though. You know I have no problem doing what you just said and a lot more with Scott on this very beach. Right now." Her tone was playful and yet matter-of-fact.

This time it was Sarah's turn to shudder. "I do know that and should know better than to try to outdo you in a 'doing inappropriate things in public' contest."

"You'd be wise to remember."

"Yes, oh queen. Now that we have that settled, I'll be back in a few." She stood and checked the knots of the ties on her hips of her green bikini bottom. It would not do to have a bikini malfunction while she was swimming. They were secure and after hiking up on the straps of her top, she strolled across the pebbly beach toward an area roped off for swimming only.

She walked past and smiled down at a group of small children playing in the shallow water. The surf was gentle and tiny waves broke over her lower legs as she waded further out. The temperature of the water was perfect. It was cool but not cold. Once she strode out to where it was at her waist, she took a deep breath, pushed off the bottom and dove into the water like a dolphin. Still submerged, she propelled herself by keeping both feet together and using her whole body to execute several strong dolphin kicks. She then blew out her held breath and headed for the surface. Breaking it, she took a deep breath of fresh air and, having kept her eyes closed against the saltwater, swiped at them with her fingers. They stung a little when she opened them, but it was worth it to swim in the Mediterranean.

With only her head out of the water, she spun around and faced the shore. She took in the breathtaking scenery of the mountains that seemed to rise out of the sea just beyond the beach. The gentle swells of the sea lifted her up and down, so that at times her feet touched the bottom and sometimes she was floating. It was a wonderfully peaceful feeling.

As she drifted on rolling water, she surveyed the beach. Chuck and the kids had arrived about an hour after she and Carina had and found a place to put all of their stuff nearby. They weren't all together but that was okay. They were still able to interact with each other, but were careful to be seen as two separate groups.

After floating for another ten minutes, she swam back toward the shore. When it got too shallow to swim, she stood and walked out the rest of the way. As she left the water, she swept her hair to one side and squeezed the water from it with both hands.

The towel on her chair was rumpled, so she picked it up, snapped it a couple of times in the breeze and covered her chair with it again. Sitting down and swinging her legs up on the lounge, she said to her friend, "The water's fantastic. You should go in."

"Meh. There are fish in that water."

Sarah ran her fingers through her wet hair and slipped her sunglasses on. "So? I've seen them. They're not very big and they're certainly not going to hurt you."

"Fish eat and then they poop. I'm not going to swim in a fish toilet."

"I've seen you swim in water with fish in it plenty of times."

"Only when I had to."

Sarah tilted her head while she examined that statement in her mind. Now that she thought about it, she'd seen Carina swim in pools often, but the redhead had only been in a sea or ocean when a mission deemed it necessary. "Huh. Okay, then. You know I can use this information against you."

"You do and I'll kick your ass so hard, you'll end up in Algeria."

"I doubt that, but since you're keeping a secret for me, I'll keep your fish poop secret."

"Deal."

Once her skin had dried in the wind and sun, Sarah slathered on more sunblock and then relaxed to take in everything going on around her.

"Those girls are gorgeous," Carina said, looking over at Lizzie and Lisa, reclining in their lounge chairs, sunning themselves. Lizzie's tasteful bikini—something that had been difficult to find—was sherbet orange while her sister's was bright pink. "Have you noticed the way those teenaged cabana boys keep asking them if they need anything?"

"I have," Sarah answered, eyeing the girls. Carina was right. They were gorgeous. All of her kids were. How could they not be with Ellie and Devon as their parents? "Fortunately, Casey noticed, too. They may come around, but with him glaring at them, they don't hang around for very long."

"He is an excellent deterrent," her friend agreed. "Big scary Marine types tend to be." They both looked over to where Casey sat, his head in perpetual motion as he watched over the kids. Resplendent in his USA hat, Checkpoint Charlie t-shirt and long dark blue shorts, he was the epitome of an American tourist. "You couldn't talk Johnny Boy into strapping on a banana hammock?" Carina asked.

"Yeah, that'll happen," Sarah answered with a snort. "He's wearing shorts. I think that's a huge step for him."

"He should wear them more often," Carina said, still staring over at the major. "He has nice knees."

"He does. I've only seen those knees once before and he was wearing lederhosen."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Carina chuckled. She tossed her auburn hair in the breeze. "I've seen Casey's knees before this, too. Only he wasn't wearing shorts or lederhosen. As a matter of fact, he wasn't wearing pants at all."

"Okay!" Sarah said, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Don't even want to know."

"Are you sure? 'Cause it's a funny story. There was this one time in Prague when Casey and I—"

The story Carina was about to tell—one that most assuredly would have given Sarah nightmares had she heard it in all its "Casey not wearing any pants" glory—was interrupted when Megan ran up the beach toward them, a giant grin on her face.

"Did you see me? Did you see me?" she asked breathlessly. The little girl was completely adorable in her little orange life vest and navy blue bathing suit. In only a couple of days, her skin was already tanned and her blonde hair, which had been expertly put into a French braid by her oldest sister, was lighter.

"We did!" Sarah replied with a huge smile of her own. "Was it fun?"

Megan hopped up and down and clapped her hands. "It was the _best!_ I wanna go again! And _faster_ next time."

Sarah has seen that Chuck had arranged through the hotel's beach club for the kids to be pulled behind a speedboat on blue and yellow inflatables called donuts. Two donuts were pulled at a time, each one holding a kid who sat with their backside down in the hole and his or her feet sticking up in front. The smaller and younger the kids, the slower the boat had gone.

"I'm not sure you'll get to go faster until you're bigger, but I'm glad you had fun even if you didn't go as fast as you wanted."

"Kid's an adrenaline junkie," Carina said under her breath. "I approve."

Megan nodded, her grin never fading. "It was _really_ fun."

Chuck walked up and stood behind Megan, looking down at the two women with his hands on his hips. He looked as adorable as Megan wearing his bigger life vest. "You two want a go at it?"

Sarah snapped her head toward Carina and shot a glare over her sunglasses to warn the redhead off from making an inappropriate comment. She could tell Carina was about to explode with innuendo, but somehow managed to hold it back.

"Thanks, but Caryn and I are going to go for rides on a different kind of watercraft in a few minutes."

Chuck's eyebrows pulled together. "Really? What are you going to do?"

"We want to get a closer look at some of the yachts out there, so we're going to jump on a couple of jet skis and cruise around."

"Oh, great," he said, letting her know he caught her underlying mission of perhaps seeing Benoit. "You want some company?" he asked with a hopeful smile.

"No, thanks," Sarah answered, her voice light. "We're good." His face crumbled when she turned down his offer. Fighting off the smile that twitched at her lips, she said, "Besides, you'll be too busy to go jet skiing with us."

His brow wrinkled in confusion. "Me? Busy? Doing what?"

"I guess I forgot to tell you. I set it up for you to go parasailing."

His mouth dropped open and he gawped at her.

"Is that the parachute behind a boat?" Megan asked, her eyes as wide as her uncle's. "Where you go way up high?"

"Yup." She looked at Chuck's still stunned face and started to worry. Swinging her legs off her lounge, she sat up straight and said, "Is that okay? I thought maybe you'd like it."

His astonishment gave way and he seemed to come to his senses. A happy smile slowly grew. "Yeah, I'd love to do that. That's really cool. Thanks."

She popped a shoulder up and down. "You're welcome."

"Just make sure that harness you strap on around your hips doesn't squish any important body parts, Chuckie," Carina said, a smirk lifting at the corner of her mouth.

"Huh?" Megan asked, looking first at Carina and then Sarah.

"Come on, _Caryn_," Sarah said, whirling around on Carina to give her the evil eye, "let's go jump on some jet skis while Chuck flies over us."

"_The Flying Nerd_. Maybe he can get his own TV show," Carina said, her tone bone dry.

This time, Sarah simply ignored her riffing friend and stood. Taking Megan's hand, they walked toward where Lizzie and Lisa lounged. "You stay here with your sisters while we're gone and don't go near the water unless a grown up is with you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Aunt—" Megan stopped and looked up at her aunt, her face filled with alarm. Sarah gave her a gentle, understanding smile. Megan's slip-up was really her fault. She'd gone into parenting mode without even realizing it and Megan had responded accordingly. "Yes, Ms. Irving," the little girl corrected herself.

Sarah squeezed Megan's hand. "You know what, Megan? While we're here in Monte Carlo, I'd like it if you called me Miss Sarah. Will that work for you?"

Nodding vigorously, the little girl said, "Yes!"

"Good." After leaving Megan in the safe hands of her sisters, Chuck, Vegas, who would accompany Chuck on the boat, Sarah and Carina walked to the rental kiosk. It wasn't long before the news of Chuck's upcoming adventure had spread to the rest of the group and soon all the kids, Casey and Barstow sat together on the beach, ready to watch him take flight. After signing release forms not holding the company responsible should there be a problem and he suffered injury or death, and listening to instructions on what to do, he was soon harnessed up and riding on the platform boat out to where it would pull him along to soar over the Mediterranean.

Once Chuck and Vegas were on their way, Sarah and Carina signed their own pile of papers to rent jet skis. Standing near the watercraft, they each put their hair up in ponytails and Sarah clipped on her life vest. As Carina slipped hers on, she sidled up close to the tanned young man helping them and said in a low voice, "I'd like to wear _you_ like a life vest."

Sarah shook her head and watched the poor guy go bright red. Swallowing hard, he gave Carina an unsure smile. He kind of looked like he was convinced the tall redhead was going to skin him and stuff him full of some kind of flotation material.

The two women walked over to their jet skis, strapped ignition kill switch tethers around their wrists and straddled the machines. They started the engines and slowly pulled away from the dock.

Once they were far enough away from shore, they sped up their watercrafts, but didn't go full throttle. Even so, Sarah couldn't help but grin as she zoomed across the water.

"Hey!" Carina shouted over the noise of the engines. She pointed toward a man hanging from a bright yellow parachute. Like a kite, he was being reeled out from the boat he was being pulled behind and the more line he was given, the higher he rose into the air.

It was thrilling and little terrifying for Sarah to see her husband that high above the water. She had pushed aside her protective tendencies and made arrangements for him to do this, knowing the people he was with were professionals and that he would be safe. He was always full of surprises for her, roses being delivered to her hotel room being the most recent, and she wanted to surprise him. She was pretty sure she'd succeeded.

Focusing on the task at hand, they drove their jet skis toward a yacht slowly cruising along parallel to the coast. The sleek, white boat, about one hundred feet long, was quite impressive, but to Sarah it looked much too small for Benoit to live on for any extended period of time.

Not wanting to assume anything, however, they spent the next hour riding past yachts of all sizes moored along the coast. They never went terribly fast since they were trying to see who was on the boats without being too obvious while at the same time wanting to be noticed. And noticed they were. They were waved at from half the vessels they passed, which usually came along with shouted invitations to board and have drinks. While Sarah was pleased that they were indeed being spotted, they certainly weren't going accept the offers.

If Benoit was on one of the yachts, they didn't see him, nor did they see the _El Dorado_. They'd looked for it on the chance that Pavel Zuyev had lied to Sarah when she had threatened him with serious bodily injury in Moscow.

The two women turned in their jet skis and were making their way along the beach toward their lounge chairs when Chuck sprang up from his seat and stopped them. He had finished his parasailing adventure earlier and was still wearing an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

"Looks like someone had fun," Sarah said. It made her happy to see him so excited.

He gave her a bone-crushing hug and kissed her on the cheek. Releasing her, he said, "It was incredible, Sarah. The view from up there was amazing. Granted, it was kinda weird at first when I started floating higher and higher, but it was _awesome!_ You should do it."

"Maybe I will tomorrow," she said, smiling at his boyish enthusiasm. "I'm glad you liked it."

"I did. Thanks." His eyes said so much more.

"You're welcome." Sarah turned to her nieces and asked, "How about you girls? Having a good day at the beach? I know Megan enjoyed being pulled behind the boat. Did the rest of you?"

"We sure did!" Lisa said. In her excitement, she sat up straight from where she'd been reclining in her chair. "We're hoping that if we can come back out here tomorrow, Lizzie and me and Fred and Curtis can go on a Flyfish. Those look really fun. If you get going fast enough, the whole thing goes up in the air."

Sarah had seen those being pulled behind motorboats throughout the day, too. They looked like big rubber rafts and did indeed go airborne when traveling at a fast enough speed. "Those do look like fun. I'm sure you bigger kids will enjoy it if you get the chance." To Bridget, she asked, "You don't want to go?"

The girl shrugged a shoulder. "I might ride in the boat."

"That sounds like a good idea." She looked down to where Megan and Martie sat on a towel playing together and was about to ask them if they wanted to ride in the boat, too, when she noticed something strange. Eyebrows scrunched together, she asked, "Why don't Spy Barbie and Dani have their bikini tops on?" Both dolls wore bikini bottoms, but were otherwise completely topless.

Martie swung her arm out and pointed down the beach. "They want to be like some of the other ladies on the beach, so they're like that lady down there."

Nodding, Megan added, "Since they're on a mission, they want to fit in and not be noticed."

Chuck's eyes grew huge and round. Next to her, Carina couldn't stop the laugh that erupted.

"The boys told us about her. They saw her and came over here and were acting all goofy and giggly and stuff," Lizzie said. She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. "They keep walking back and forth in front of her. Of course you know they'd fall over dead if they had to talk to her."

Lisa nodded. "Uncle Casey just figured out what they were doing and went after them to tell them to knock it off." She mimicked the big man as she said the last three words.

"I'd hate to be them," Barstow said from his seat behind the girls' chairs. "They might be cleaning the bathroom floors with toothbrushes later."

"Chuck," Sarah said quietly and gave him a meaningful look. She didn't want them to be punished for acting like teenage boys who'd never run across anything like that before.

He winked at her and then said to the whole group, "I'll make sure he doesn't make them clean the bathrooms with toothbrushes. Or do a hundred pushups. Or dig a latrine. Or run double time through the streets of Monaco with fifty pound packs on their backs."

Sarah heaved a sigh of relief. She kind of wanted to stay to see the goofy looks on the boys' faces when they talked about the topless woman, but they'd already spent a bit of time with the family and didn't want to look like they were all together. "Okay, well, we're going to our stuff, so have fun."

"Bye!" came the response from all the kids.

"So we were going about it all wrong out there on the jet skis, Sarah," Carina said as they walked back toward their chairs. "We should have been topless. That would have smoked Benoit out for sure."

Chuckling, Sarah answered, "Not according to Martie and Megan. If we had, no one would have noticed us since we would have fit right in with everyone else." She cut a sly look toward her friend and took in the dark purple two-piece she wore. "Besides, your bikini doesn't leave much to the imagination."

"Hey! You should thank me. It covers everything it needs to. And if I got the okay, you know I'd go topless in a heartbeat. Or have you forgotten Majorca?"

"Oh, I will _never_ forget Majorca," Sarah said with a smile.

The two returned to their lounges and after applying another layer of sunblock, reclined once again to soak up the sun.

An hour or so later, Chuck, the kids and the agents walked past the two women on their way back to the hotel.

"You're going back to your rooms?" Sarah called out.

The whole group stopped in front of them. "Yeah," Chuck answered. "We've got to get the kids cleaned up and fed before I go out on my date tonight." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Oh, right! I have a date tonight, too."

Martie tugged at Lizzie's hand to get her attention. "I thought they were going out with each other," she said, clearly confused.

"They are," her sister replied. "They're just teasing."

Martie scratched the side of her head. "Grownups are confusing."

"You're right, kiddo. They are."

"Can I come by your room to pick you up later?" Chuck asked his wife and date for the evening.

"Sure. See you at eight."

He smiled, gave her a little wave in acknowledgement and then herded the kids off.

Sarah and Carina stayed at the beach for another thirty minutes before they packed up their belongings and walked back to the hotel. As they neared the front desk, the young woman working behind it called out, "Mademoiselle Irving. A package was left here for you." She placed a large flat rectangular box on the counter.

Sarah looked at Carina who only shrugged. Putting the strap of her beach bag on her shoulder, she picked up the white box with both hands. Whatever was inside wasn't heavy, but it did shift when she tucked the box under her arm. "_Merci_."

"Who's it from?" Carina asked as the elevator doors closed.

"I don't know. I assume that will be clear when I open it."

"Open it now."

Sarah shook her head. "I'm not going to open it in public when I don't know who it's from or what it is."

"You're no fun." After a pause, Carina asked, "Is it ticking?"

"No, it's not ticking."

"Is it a box of money?"

"It's not heavy enough."

When they reached their floor, the elevator dinged and the door slid open. "You want to come in and see what it is?" Sarah asked.

"Sure. Maybe it's a severed arm."

She snorted. "Sounds like you've been hanging around Fred too much."

Sarah slipped her card key into the slot and opened the door. Curious to find out what was in the box, she dropped the beach bag on the floor and put it on top of the bed. She lifted off the lid and revealed clothing of some kind wrapped in white tissue paper. "It's from Chuck," she said, recognizing his handwriting on the note that lay on top.

"Oooo! Chuckie buy you some sleazy lingerie? Good for him! Keeping things spicy while you make baby nerds."

"It's a pretty big box if it's lingerie," she answered, now holding the note. She read aloud, "While we were out shopping earlier today, Bridget saw this and insisted that you 'simply _had_ to wear it tonight.' I agree. I like the red. It matches your roses. See you soon, Chuck."

"Okay, if Bridget was involved, I'm really hoping this is _not_ sleazy lingerie," Carina said.

"I'm sure it's not." Excitement bubbled up as she set the note off to the side and removed the tissue paper. She gasped when she carefully lifted out and held up an exquisite red dress. The tea length tulle skirt was full and flouncy. Flower-like red lace and tiny crystals decorated the bodice and most of the way down the skirt. It was breathtaking.

"Wow," Carina said, obviously impressed. "The kid's proven once again she has more fashion sense than anyone I've ever known. Now I can't wait to see what she picked out for Scottie." When Sarah couldn't tear her eyes away from the dress, Carina rolled hers and said, "I'll leave you two alone."

Snapping out of her trance, Sarah said, "Yeah. See you two in the lobby at eight."

"Copy that," Carina replied as the door closed behind her.

Sarah tried on the dress and was happy to find it hugged her curves perfectly. Even at her young age, Bridget was becoming one of those people who could just look at a person and know their size. Now that she knew the dress fit, she carefully hung it in the closet and immediately texted her niece thanking her for picking out such a beautiful dress.

Next, she took a nice long shower, washing away the sunblock and salty seawater that coated her skin. Once she toweled off, she put on a gray tank top and thin white cotton pants. Checking the time, she saw that she still had an hour before Chuck would be by to pick her up.

It was quiet in her room. And lonely. She missed Chuck. She missed the kids. She missed their noise and pandemonium. She missed her audience of girls who always watched her whenever she got ready to go out. She'd grown so used to them being around that now when she was alone, the silence was deafening.

To combat the quiet, she took a cue from Chuck and decided to listen to a composer from the country they were visiting. While they were technically in Monaco, she figured French composers would have to do. There had to be Monégasque ones, but she just didn't know of any.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, pressed the music icon on the screen with her thumb and began to scroll through the list of composers. She let out a happy squeal when she saw the name Claude Debussy. Tapping his name, a list of pieces came on the screen. At the top was the one she wanted to listen to first. She touched the screen and the sound of a softly played piano came from the tiny speaker. Mesmerized by the opening measures of Debussy's _Clair de Lune_, she stood stock-still and let the cascade of notes flow around her.

After listening to it once all the way through without moving, she touched the screen to play it again. This time, she carried her phone into the bathroom and set it on the counter, the music still playing. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she was just beginning to put on her makeup when she heard a knock at her door.

Wondering what Carina could need, she swung the door open. Rather than Carina, it was Chuck standing there and smiling at her. He looked incredibly handsome in his charcoal gray double-breasted suit, white dress shirt and gray and black silk necktie.

"Chuck," she said quietly. She was thoroughly stunned by his unexpected appearance.

"I'm sorry I'm a couple minutes late—" he started. His smile vanished and his eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion. "Aren't we meeting Caryn and Scott in the lobby at seven o'clock?"

"No, eight," she said, shaking her head slowly. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

He looked completely mortified. "Sarah, I'm _so_ sorry." Glancing down at his Cartier, he said, "I'll go back to my room and come back in an hour."

"No, you don't have to do that. You're welcome to come in and wait. You can have a drink out on the terrace while I finish getting ready."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't want to impose."

She stepped back to let him in. "It's not an imposition at all. Please, come in."

A relieved smile broke on his face and he walked into the room. The door had barely latched behind them before he caught her up in his arms and gave her a scorching kiss. She eagerly returned it and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Hi," he mumbled against her lips.

"Hi." After sharing another deep kiss, she looked up at him. Seeing his self-satisfied look, she narrowed her eyes and said, "Showing up early was no accident, was it? You _knew_ you were supposed to be here at eight, not seven."

He considered her from under lowered eyelids. "Are you saying I did this on purpose just to have an hour alone with my wife?"

"Yes."

"Guilty as charged," he confirmed, completely unabashed. He kissed her again and then said, "I thought my performance at the door was Oscar-worthy."

"I'm sure anyone who might see the security feed will be convinced that you were horribly embarrassed at your social faux pas."

With a small smile and the tiniest of nods, he lowered his head and kissed her again. It started off as playful, but quickly grew passionate. She snuck a hand between their pressed bodies and unfastened the buttons of his jacket. When they released each other from their embrace long enough for her to slide off the jacket and toss it onto a chair, she said, "You look unbelievably sexy, by the way." Without taking her eyes away from his, she leisurely tugged at his tie until the end slipped out of the knot. Once it was completely undone, she slowly pulled it from around his neck and flung it away. It joined the jacket on the chair.

"Thanks," he croaked. She noticed his breaths had grown shallow. When her fingers worked the button at the collar of his shirt, his eyelids fluttered closed. He swallowed hard and said in a halting voice, "Bridget told me to tell you that it's Dior."

"Mm-hmm." While her fingers continued to unbutton his shirt, she rose up on her tiptoes and nuzzled his neck. "You smell fantastic, too." The scent wasn't overpowering, but fresh and spicy and masculine. A little growl rumbled from her throat.

His eyes remained closed as his hands drifted under her tank top and over her back. "So do you."

She slipped her hands under his now unbuttoned shirt, swept them across his chest and down his arms, removing his shirt. "I'm not wearing any perfume," she said in a purr.

"I'd be happier if you weren't wearing anything at all." It only took another minute for the chair to be completely covered with their cast off clothes.

Alone and behind closed doors, there was no need for subterfuge, no need for Mr. Charles and Ms. Irving. They could be who they simply were: Chuck and Sarah.


	46. A Night Like This

**A/N:** Welcome back! Thank you for returning for another installment. I know summer can be a busy time, so I appreciate you taking the time to read this. Thank you, too, to those of you who left reviews for the previous chapter and apologize if I didn't respond. It has been a crazy couple of weeks for me. Please know that each review is always greatly appreciated.

Thank you to **AgentInWaiting** for his wonderful beta work. I'd also like to thank him for introducing me to the music of the fantastic Dutch singer, Caro Emerald, the inspiration for the singer in this chapter. I've put the YouTube video of the song of hers AgentInWaiting suggested I use (I did not mess with the lyrics, by the way) on my blog, ChuckvsSOM dot blogspot dot com, for your listening and dancing pleasure. You should really listen to it before, during and after you read the chapter. It's a delight. Also, while you're over at the blog, check out more cool pictures that go with this chapter of Monte Carlo and Monaco taken by my friend, **Ziohenry**.

I haven't done this in a long time, so disclaimer stuff goes here.

**Chapter 46 – A Night Like This**

Both impeccably dressed with not a hair out of place, Chuck and Sarah left her hotel room and chatted as they strolled down the corridor. Once in the elevator, they stood a proper distance from each other and continued their casual conversation. Their demeanors informed those who observed them that their relationship was relaxed and friendly, but they didn't know each other all that well. Other than when Sarah reached out to straighten Chuck's tie, there were no familiar touches or terms of endearment to suggest there was an intimate relationship between them. Nothing in their actions toward each other made anyone around them think they had in fact only a short time earlier—in the immortal words of Carina Miller—gotten busy.

Anyone, that is, except at least one of the two people who sat on a loveseat waiting for them in the lobby. The minute Chuck and Sarah appeared, Scott and Carina stood. "Sorry we're late," Chuck said as he shook Scott's hand.

"It's my fault," Sarah said. "I wasn't ready when Chuck came by."

Carina stepped forward and kissed Sarah's cheek in greeting. "Nice try, Walker," she whispered in her ear. "You're not fooling anyone."

While Sarah's excuse was technically true, she wasn't going to argue the point with her friend since it really didn't matter. Stepping back, she said, "Caryn, you look fabulous." The redhead was stunning in a tight, dark purple dress that made her legs look like they went on forever.

"So do you," Carina said, looking her over. "Nice dress."

"Thank you," she said and spun, letting the skirt flare out. Then she shook Barstow's hand. "Scott, nice to see you again."

"You too, Sarah," he replied. He was smooth and self-assured. Sarah was really impressed at how his confidence as an agent had grown over the course of the last three weeks. Until recently, he'd been primarily on protection detail. But things changed when he and Chuck went on their rescue missions in Prague. Now he was working with her undercover and was certainly stretching his agent wings. "If our reservations are for eight-thirty, we better get going."

"I hope you don't mind, Sarah, but I had them bring your car around when I called the valet for mine," Carina said.

"That's fine," she replied. Carina slipped her arm through Sarah's as the foursome strode toward the doors of the lobby. With heads tipped together in a tête-à-tête, Carina said, "You tell Bridget that from now on, she should buy all of Scottie's clothes."

Sarah peered over her shoulder at Barstow who walked with Chuck directly behind them. His suit was light gray, his shirt white, and tie, black. The single-breasted suit jacket had peaked lapels, making him look especially stylish. Turning forward again, she said, "I'll be sure and tell her."

"The design on his tie are little cobras," Carina said. "Cool, right?"

"Snakes? Then we know Megan didn't pick it out," Sarah whispered.

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

They stepped outside to find Sarah's rented Porsche parked behind a red Ferrari 458 Italia Spider. Carina stepped over to the valet, snatched the keys from his hand and slid into the driver's seat. "Nice wheels," Sarah said as her gaze swept over the sleek, low-slung and sexy convertible. "So understated. Just like you, Caryn."

Barstow sprinted around the back of the car and jumped into the passenger seat. Sarah had never seen a smile so wide on his face before. Glowing with anticipation, he looked like a little kid about to ride Space Mountain for the first time. Sarah thought the agent might actually burst into flames when Carina revved the engine a couple of times, it roaring and whining like a Formula One race car. Carina turned away from Scott and looked up at Chuck and Sarah. With a wink, she said, "I think someone needs to go for a little ride around the Grand Prix circuit." She revved the engine a couple more times while she slipped on her sunglasses.

"Caryn, we need you—" Sarah started.

"Don't worry. We'll be there soon. Ciao!" With that, the car sped away. Even after it disappeared around a corner, Sarah could still hear the engine's roar as Carina and Scott drove off.

Sarah turned to her husband. "I guess that just leaves you and me to make sure we keep our reservations." She sat down in the driver's seat and swung her legs into her car. When the valet closed the Porsche's door, she was careful to ensure the full skirt didn't get caught. "Unless you have the urge to make a lap around the circuit, too," she said as he lowered himself into the car. Not to be outdone by Carina and her Ferrari, Sarah pressed down on the throttle several times, letting the Porsche growl.

"No, I'm good. I've had plenty of adrenaline released into my system today." She barely caught when his eyebrows quirked up. "You know, the whole parasailing thing."

"Right." She popped out the clutch and the tires chirped when the car sprang forward. She drove down the driveway and turned onto the road to take them into the main part of town. It wasn't a long drive to the Hôtel de Paris and knowing they would arrive in plenty of time, Sarah decided take it slow and enjoy as much time alone with Chuck as she could. The view of the Mediterranean was not to be missed either.

"Thank you for the dress. I love it." She peeked over at him with a sly look. "You know, Mr. Bartowski, you have some pretty nifty ninja dating skills. I should have held out and made you date me before I agreed to marry you."

"Uh-huh," he said drily. "Because we _both_ wanted to take it slow."

She laughed, remembering how the three weeks between their engagement and wedding seemed to take an eternity.

"Speaking of your beautiful new dress, this is the picture that will come up on my screen every time you call me now," Chuck said, holding up his phone for her to see. She only had to peek over at it for a second to know which photo he was talking about. He had taken it only moments before they left her room to meet Scott and Carina. She had been checking her makeup one last time in the mirror when Chuck appeared at the bathroom door, the stem of one of her roses clamped between his teeth and his eyebrows working overtime. She had laughed, removed the flower from his teeth and given him a kiss. Then, in possession of the flower, she'd put it between her teeth, leaned against the wall and grinned. Before she knew it, his phone was out, taking her picture.

"I need a picture of you in that suit, by the way. You're incredibly handsome in it," she said. It was stylish with an impeccable fit. "You look every inch the super-wealthy, retired-young, software nerd out for a night on the town."

"Out with my Porsche driving, smoking hot date," he added. "And you look gorgeous in that dress."

She smiled and glanced over at him. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"I know I've already told you that, like, thirty times already, but I can't help it. I look at you and it just blurts out. It's like I have Sarah Bartowski induced Tourette's."

Laughing, she said, "I can live with that." She downshifted and slowed when they encountered heavier traffic. "Other than getting clothes for you, me and Barstow, how did the shopping go with the kids today?" Given that she and Chuck had engaged in other activities when they were alone earlier, they hadn't really talked much.

"Not bad. Between the expensive clothes and jewelry in the store windows and the exotic cars parked along the streets, there was something for everyone." He swiped his finger over the screen of his phone. "Check this out," he said, holding the phone up again. "I have a new picture for when Fred calls me, too."

They were stuck behind a stopped bus, so she took a few seconds to examine the picture. Her grinning nephew stood in the doorway of a shop. "Does the sign above his head say 'FRED'? The jewelry store?"

"Yep. He almost came out of his skin when he saw it. He had to have his picture taken under it."

"I don't blame him," she said, pressing on the Porsche's accelerator. "Did you go into the store and look around?"

"Yeah," he said, chuckling. "Fred really wanted to buy a 'FRED' watch for Amy. When Lisa saw that the cheapest one was over two thousand euros, she told him she'd scratch his name onto the wristband of the one he has now and he could send that to her. He wasn't impressed."

"I like how she's always thinking outside the box, though." Sarah said with a grin. "Speaking of outside the box, how's it going with Casey the Manny?" Even though she had seen the kids every day, she missed being with them all the time. It was nice to catch up with how they were doing.

"He keeps them in line."

"I'll bet," she answered with a snort. "Should we hire him on full time?"

"No way," Chuck replied. "The kids love him as their protective uncle, but if we told them he was actually going to stay on as their nanny, we'd have a mutiny on our hands." He took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Besides, all they talk about how much they miss you and can't wait for you to come back. I even caught Fred moping around a bit."

"That's sweet. I was just thinking about how much I miss them, too."

"Look at it this way. The trip will be over soon, one way or the other. We can spend the rest of the summer at home together."

"We just have to catch an international bad guy before then," Sarah reminded him.

"Pfft. No problem," he said with a wave of his hand. "Dude'll take one look at you in that dress and have a brain cramp. You can slap the cuffs on him while he stands there dazed and confused."

"You're quite the charmer, Mr. Bartowski. I only wish it was that easy," she said, turning the car onto _Place du Casino_. She brought the Porsche to a stop and a valet dressed in all black appeared at her door. "Good evening, mademoiselle," he said in French as he opened the car door. "Will you be staying with us at the hotel?"

The valet had barely stepped back when she saw Chuck standing there, hand extended and ready to assist her from the car. "No," she answered as she lightly took her husband's hand and stood. "We'll be dining at Le Grill."

"Very good," he said. He handed her a ticket and made a slight bow. "Enjoy."

"_Merci_." She slipped her hand into Chuck's crooked elbow and led him toward the large oval mound of grass dotted with palm trees and flowers that dominated the plaza. "Even with Caryn's lead foot, we have a few minutes before she and Scott get here." A fountain at the center of the knoll sent water flowing down in four different directions. It was the large, round concave mirror that stood in the middle of the fountain that drew her eye. While the Hôtel de Paris faced the _place_ on one of the four sides, the famous Casino de Monte-Carlo, from which the plaza received its name, stood in magnificent nineteenth century splendor on another.

The two sauntered around the oval, taking in the hustle and bustle of the cars and people crowding the square. "Do you want to go check out the lobby of the hotel?" Sarah asked.

"No, that's okay. We walked through it earlier today when we were shopping at those expensive stores around the corner there." He tipped his head toward the opening of the short lane as they rounded the western side of the oval. "Talk about swanky. Chandeliers, giant flower arrangements, marble floors, mirrors on the walls. The kids felt out of place." He snickered. "They just kind of stood there with their mouths hanging open in awe."

"I can imagine. It's really posh."

Eyeing her, he said, "You're a classy and sophisticated woman. I'm sure you feel right at home in a classy and sophisticated place like this."

She squeezed his arm. "You'd be surprised. My home may not be super glamorous, but I love it. It's warm and comfortable and safe. I would never want to live anywhere else."

"Sounds pretty great," he said with a perceptive smile. After a short pause, he continued, "Can I be honest? I'm glad we're not going to the über fancy restaurant in the hotel. I'd be in a flop sweat the whole time, afraid I was using the wrong fork to eat my salad or drinking the water from the finger bowls by mistake."

Laughing, she brushed at the hair across her forehead with a finger. "Even worse, you might scandalize the whole restaurant if you used your fish knife to butter your bread."

He stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at her. "There's a fish knife?"

"Mm-hmm. And a fish fork, too. Which, by the way, is completely different than a cocktail fork. You don't even want to know about the five different kinds of glasses, goblets and flutes you might be confronted with when it comes to beverages."

"See, this is what I mean. I'm an American. I eat with my hands most of the time and if there isn't a paper towel nearby, I wipe them on my pants."

"For tonight, I'd suggest you use a napkin." She loved it when he joked around. "I wouldn't want you ruining those nice slacks."

He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. "Checking out my pants, are we, Ms. Irving?"

Sliding her gaze up toward him, she said coyly, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

They had completed their circuit and were about to step off the curb to cross the street when a red Ferrari driven by a certain DEA agent roared up to them and came to an abrupt stop. "Hi, kids. Did you miss us?"

"Terribly. Now get that thing parked so we can go into the restaurant together and not lose our table," Sarah said. Glancing at Barstow, she smirked and asked, "You okay, Scott?" His face was pale and he gripped the seat so hard his knuckles were white. The hair above his forehead stood up straight where it had lain flat before. She wasn't sure if it was from the wind or fright. Probably both.

"Yes, Mom," Carina snarked and then zoomed off. The parking valet jumped out of the way as the redhead zipped the car into the drop off area like she was weaving into the pits while racing in the Grand Prix.

Leaning close to his wife, Chuck said, "I think Scott just had a hair-raising experience. Literally."

"I was just thinking the same thing, Mr. Charles."

They crossed the street and met up with the other couple as they got out of the Ferrari. Chuck shot out a hand to steady Scott when his knees buckled as he stepped up onto the sidewalk. Regaining his footing, the agent stared first at Chuck and then at Sarah. While she noted a vaguely haunted look in Scott's gray eyes, she also perceived an almost maniacal glimmer. "She scares the living crap out of me," Barstow said breathlessly. "But God help me, I love it."

The poor guy was a goner, Sarah thought with an inner snort. She was tempted to advise him to head for the hills while he still had full use of his limbs and appendages, but she refrained. Normally, she would have. But whatever this was between Scott and Carina seemed different to her. Carina was still her wild, crazy, flirty and irreverent self. At the same time, though, Sarah had noticed a subtle change in her friend when she was with Scott. Her usual _modus operandi _was to keep one eye on the guy she was with and the other roving around for whomever would be her next conquest. Now, though, Sarah didn't see Carina doing that when she was around Scott. Instead, she kept both eyes firmly fixed on him. While it certainly wasn't a declaration of eternal devotion and undying love, it _was_ something different. Sarah had no intention of interfering with that. If anything, she was curious to see what would happen.

"What are we waiting for?" Carina asked as she joined the other three on the sidewalk. "Let's eat. I'm hungry." Scott, having recovered his composure, offered his arm to Carina and the two couples headed for the entrance of the hotel.

Stepping out of the elevator on the top floor, they entered the restaurant and were led to their table. The dining room, while not all that wide, was long and curved along the length of the façade like an indoor terrace, ensuring that each table enjoyed the view. Elegant but not intimidating, Le Grill was awash in a sea of blue. The tablecloths were pale blue and matched the panorama of the sky that could be seen through the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The material on the chair covers was a rich, nautical blue and tied in perfectly with the yachts that were moored in the harbor below. On that warm summer evening, the retractable section of the roof was open to reveal the cloudless sky above their heads. To perfect the atmosphere, a pianist filled the room with smoothly played jazz standards.

The four were seated at a square table with Sarah and Carina sitting across from each other. Once settled, both women surreptitiously surveyed the room, scanning for faces they might recognize. When Carina's gaze rested a little longer on a particular table and then shifted down at her menu, Sarah asked lightly, "See anything interesting, Caryn?"

"It all looks so yummy. I have my eye on a couple of things I'm familiar with, although I'm intrigued by a third that's new."

Sarah turned her head as if she were reading one side of her menu. Side-eyed, she glanced over at three men dining at the table that had drawn Carina's attention. The adrenaline that erupted made her whole body tingle. She recognized the largest of the three men. He was one of the two aides of Benoit's who had seen her and Agent Barker in the hallway outside the Frenchman's office just after she'd stolen the flash drives. She didn't know the other two men, but Carina apparently recognized a second so she assumed he was one of Benoit's guys, too. The three men hadn't noticed them, being engrossed in deep conversation.

"I know what you mean. There's one I'm drawn to, but everything looks good," Sarah answered. Her brain was already trying to figure out the best way to proceed now that they were finally in a position to make contact with at least one of Benoit's men. They had to walk a tightrope of taking advantage of the opportunity given, but not seem too eager and spook them.

Sarah gasped suddenly and looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I just remembered something. I need to check in with a client. I don't want to be rude, but do you mind if I sent him a quick text from the table?" When there were no objections, she typed a text to Casey, giving him descriptions of the three men and telling him to hang out in the lobby of the hotel and then follow them when they left the restaurant. Regardless as to whether or not there was any interaction with Benoit's men inside the restaurant, Sarah couldn't think of a downside to having them followed.

Her text now sent, Sarah turned her attention to Chuck who wore a mildly confused look. She assumed it was due to her and Carina's rather cryptic conversation and her spontaneous texting. Wanting to turn the conversation in a more general direction, she asked him, "What do you think of this place? Did I make a good choice?"

The slightly furrowed brow he'd sported smoothed. "You did," he answered with a smile. "The perfect amount of fancy. The three glasses are a little intimidating, but I can deal with that since there's only one fork and two knives." She smiled at him when he made a show of unfolding his blue cloth napkin and laying it across his lap.

"I thought you were a gazillionaire, Chuck," Carina said. Not calling her husband "Chuckie" immediately conveyed to Sarah that Carina had slipped into "agent" mode. It made her feel a little better, but since the DEA agent had a propensity to improvise on missions, Sarah still needed to be ready for anything. "Don't you eat at expensive places like this all the time?"

"Not really. I'm just a kid from California who likes a good cheeseburger, medium rare with extra pickles."

Sarah smiled softly and lowered her gaze to her menu. He had just sent her a coded message of his own.

"We're more likely to end up in a sports bar than anyplace else, right Chuck?" Barstow said, playing the part of Chuck's buddy.

"Yeah. I don't think we're going to get any hot wings at a place like this, though," Chuck answered.

"Classy," Carina said with an eye roll. "I hope the boy from Nebraska can find _something_ to eat."

"Oh, yeah. I'm going to order the Angus fillet. We Nebraskans are all about the beef," he said proudly. "I think I'll skip the caviar, though. I heard someone who tried it recently say that it tasted like he'd licked the outside of a dead salmon that'd been sitting in the sun for three days."

Chuck snickered while Sarah smiled and thought of Fred. "Okay, so caviar is out," he said. "How about a different first course? They have prawns prepared a couple of different ways."

Just the word "prawn" made Sarah's throat want to clamp shut, which was odd since she usually loved shellfish. She figured the strange feeling stemmed from the excitement of it looking like they were finally going to meet with someone directly connected to Benoit.

A bottle of wine was ordered and Carina, true to her word, gave Sarah a gentle thump on the shin with her pointed shoe when the blonde quietly requested mineral water for herself instead.

After their tuxedoed and solicitous waiter took their food orders, the foursome chatted and laughed, clearly enjoying each other's company over their first course. And while it seemed that Sarah was only focused on her three companions and happily eating her artichoke salad, that was far from the truth. They were seated far enough away from three men that she couldn't hear any of their conversation, but she kept an eye on what was going on. Their main course had recently been served, so the time they had to interact with Benoit's men was shortening. She was relieved, though, when she received Casey's text informing her he had arrived and was camped out in the hotel lobby.

It was clear to Sarah that she and Carina were going to have to initiate contact with Benoit's men. In addition to not wanting to appear too eager by approaching them right away, she hadn't wanted to come up to them when they were in conference. They'd obviously been in the middle of discussing something important and if Sarah and Carina interrupted at the wrong time, they might have been curtly dismissed. Now that the men were tucked into their meals and their body language told her the conversation had turned lighter, it seemed like a good time to make their move.

Fortunately, their targets' table sat between them and the ladies' room. Everyone at their table had finished their first course, so Sarah shot Carina a significant look and said, "Caryn and I are going to the powder room."

"Yes we are," the redhead replied enthusiastically. Both women grabbed their purses and stood. Sarah motioned for Carina to walk in front of her since she would be the one stopping at the table when she "suddenly" recognized the men.

As it turned out, when the two stunningly gorgeous women walked through the restaurant, every head turned toward them, including the ones at the table they walked toward. It wasn't the man Sarah recognized, but one of the other two who stood up as they neared and said in French, "Caryn Mitchell. You are as beautiful as ever."

Carina played the part of being completely caught off guard perfectly, complete with a gasp and slapping her hand to her chest. "Luc!" she responded in his language. "What a pleasant surprise." He took her hand in both of his and kissed each cheek in greeting while the other two men stood. Turning to the man Sarah recognized, Carina shook his hand and said, "André, how nice to see you again."

"And you, Mademoiselle Mitchell," the large man said with a genuine smile. He was slightly taller than Chuck and had a hundred pounds on him. He wasn't fat by any stretch of the imagination. He was just really big. When his gaze slid from Carina to Sarah, she saw recognition flash in them.

With an upturned palm, Carina indicated Sarah and said, "This is my friend Sarah Irving. I don't know if you remember her, but she and I met at one of Henri's parties a few months ago. Sarah, this is Luc Beaufort and André Robespierre. They both work for Henri Benoit."

She smiled and shook Beaufort's hand first. Sarah judged him to be in his late forties or early fifties. He had a prominent nose and his gray hair had receded to nearly the back of his head. In an attempt to give the illusion that he had more hair than actually he did, he had combed it forward. The way it was styled seemed to defy gravity.

When she shook André's incredibly large hand, he said, "I remember you, Ms. Irving. You weren't feeling well that evening and left early."

"Oh, yes," she said, her voice heavy with chagrin. She shook her head. "I'm so embarrassed that you saw me like that. But, yes, I remember you, too. You were so quick to help me and so very gracious." She stared into his eyes and gave him her sincerest look. "I don't think I thanked you then, so I'd like to now. Thank you."

If André had any suspicions about her and what she was doing in Benoit's hallway the night, his face didn't register it. If anything, it pinked at the attention she was giving him. To reinforce the idea that she'd had too much champagne that evening, she dipped her head and said with a self-deprecating smile, "Since then, I've come to realize that alcohol and I don't mix. I've given it up." If any of them cared to check their table, they would find only a glass of water at her place.

When both Sarah and Carina looked at the third man standing at the table, Beaufort said, "Where are my manners? Mesdemoiselles Mitchell and Irving, may I introduce you to Gaston Paquin. He is the head of security at the casino."

"Very nice to meet you," Carina said. Paquin shook first Carina's hand, then Sarah's. He was about the same height as the two women and had a wiry, athletic build. He looked to be slightly younger than Beaufort with a lot more hair that was a lot less gray. His smile didn't come easily and he gave off a no-nonsense vibe.

Sarah knew André was one of Benoit's security goons and if he was meeting with the head of casino security, she could assume that Luc Beaufort was part of Benoit's security team as well.

"How is Henri?" Carina asked Beaufort, giving Sarah another clue that he was higher up the food chain since she spoke to him and not André. "I hope he's well. I haven't heard from him since he suddenly left on his extended business trip. Is he here in Monte Carlo? I'd love to see him." When Beaufort hesitated, she gave him a wink. "I miss that silver fox."

"Monsieur Benoit is in the area, but I don't know if he will have time to see you," Beaufort answered carefully.

The redhead sidled closer to him and ran her fingers up and down the lapel of his suit jacket. "If he's free later tonight, tell him we'll be at the Living Room Club for music and dancing if he'd like to swing by." Going to a club was news to Sarah, but knowing how Carina liked to improvise, she wasn't surprised and it seemed like a good plan.

"It would be lovely to see him again," Sarah agreed.

Beaufort glanced over toward their table where Chuck and Scott sat. They both seemed perplexed by their dates speaking to the three men. "I'm not sure how your boyfriends would feel about that."

Carina waved off the concern with a flick of her hand. "Not boyfriends. They're guys we met here a couple of days ago." She waved at Chuck and Scott who returned her gesture with unsure waves of their own.

"I will tell him I saw you," Beaufort said. He was certainly good at protecting his boss.

"Sure," Carina said. Her voice dropped to become low and sultry. "You tell Henri I'll be in town for a few more days. He has my number." With that, she backed away, wiggled her fingers at the three men and said, "Ciao." Then she turned on her heel and strutted off toward the ladies' room.

"It was nice meeting you," Sarah said and then followed in Carina's wake.

In the powder room, they stood in front of the mirror to check their makeup and hair. A woman stepped out of a stall and washed her hands. Once she left and Sarah was sure she and Carina were alone, she said, "You gave him plenty of bait."

Carina reapplied her lipstick and dropped the tube back in her purse. "Yep. We have to play it easy, though. Jerk too hard and he'll spit out the hook."

Sarah's eyebrows shot up in surprise and stared at her friend in the mirror.

"What? My dad used to take me fishing when I was a kid."

The shock on Sarah's face didn't diminish.

"I can gut a trout in thirty seconds," Carina said evenly.

Sarah burst out laughing. "Now _that_, I believe." She took out her phone and updated Casey via text. "So, we need to tell the guys we're going to the Living Room Club after dinner," she said as she put her phone back in her purse. "You think he'll show up?" The idea of perhaps apprehending Benoit that very night sent a tingle of excitement through her.

"I hope so. I'd love to arrest the bastard tonight and be done with it. Then Scottie and I can have some real fun."

Sarah rolled her eyes and headed for the door. "Yes, because freeing up your love life is the main consideration for taking an international crime boss into custody." She swung the door open and held it for Carina to exit first.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Carina said drily.

When they walked back to their table, they made eye contact and smiled at the three men at the table, but didn't stop. Chuck and Scott sprang from their seats to pull out their dates' chairs when they returned.

"You ran into someone you know, Caryn?" Scott asked as they all sat down.

"Don't be jealous, Scottie," Carina teased. "A couple of them work for the man who introduced me to Sarah. Luc stopped us when he recognized me."

Sarah noticed when Chuck's entire body stiffened when he realized the two men worked for Benoit. She eyed him closely as he took a sip of wine and then carefully put the goblet back on the table. "Do you jetsetter types run into each other a lot?"

Carina tilted her head in thought. "Actually, we do. We tend to end up at the glamour spots around the world and we're bound to bump into each other on occasion." With a sweep of her hand, she said, "Anyway, I invited Henri to meet us later at the Living Room Club. I haven't seen him in a few months and it'd be fun to catch up with him."

Without missing a beat, Scott said, "Well, for your sake, I hope he joins us." Sarah knew they all wanted to add, "For all our sakes," but refrained.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Beaufort raise his phone toward where she and her companions sat. If he was trying to be stealthy while he took their pictures, he wasn't doing a very good job. When he dropped the phone to his lap, she assumed the photos would be transmitted to Benoit.

In a low voice Sarah said, "I think our pictures have just sent to a certain someone."

"Not surprised," Carina said, taking a sip of wine. "He'll check the guys out personally."

"Facial recognition?" Sarah wasn't worried that Chuck and Sarah Bartowski would turn up in any databases. She knew the Agency had removed everything with her and Chuck's names from every database out there, including passport details of their recent travels. But still, a knot formed in her stomach. She thought back to when Dmitri had taken her picture in the basement in Prague. He had described what she'd looked like when she was on a mission in Paraguay years before. But it had been Mary and Stephen he had spoken to on the phone that day, not Benoit, despite what he led her to believe. "Does our guy have a database of pictures of people? Friends, enemies, agents, people he's threatened?" There had been no such database backed up on the flash drives she took from Benoit's safe.

Carina nodded. "Yeah, although it only has information on people he's dealt with from within the last five years. He had one that went back further. I overheard him grousing to Luc one day that he was still steamed that it had been stolen years ago and the backup erased."

Sarah would have to check with Mary and Stephen, but she guessed it was they who had stolen the database in question five years before, right before they disappeared. She wondered if Ellie's and Chuck's pictures might have been in the database they took with them. Sarah knew she was in it since Stephen and Mary had seen her picture. While she was relieved that Benoit wouldn't have any photos of Chuck from within the past five years, she was still concerned that Benoit might remember Chuck's face, assuming he'd ever seen a picture of her husband. Choosing her words carefully, she asked Carina, "How good is his memory? Is he one of those people who never forgets a face? Like if he saw a picture of a guy years ago but never met him, would he recognize him now?"

"Oh God, no," the other agent said with a snort. "Just the opposite. That's why he was so pissed off about the database being swiped. It's impossible for him to keep track of everyone who he's crossed paths with. The only way he _might_ remember is if you've got a pretty face, big boobs and a tight ass."

The knot in her stomach disappeared. As handsome as her husband was, he definitely didn't have big boobs. He did have a nice ass, although it was not one Benoit would have ever seen or been interested in. From what Carina had just said, even if Benoit _had_ seen a picture of Chuck years before, the chances of him recognizing her husband now was practically nil. However, if Benoit showed up at the Living Room Club, she'd keep a close eye on his reaction to Chuck nonetheless.

The attendants bringing their main course to their tables helped move the focus of conversation away from Benoit. They had to be careful not to seem overly interested in what the three men at the other table were doing, so she shifted gears and moved on to a safe dinner date topic. "What kind of movies do you like, Chuck?" she asked.

"Anything with spaceships, hobbits and/or wizards are the best movies ever made," Chuck said. He was clearly feeling more comfortable now that the initial shock of she and Carina making contact with Benoit's men had worn off. She felt a real sense of relief.

Carina rolled her eyes. "Really, Chuck? Those movies are always so _long_. They put my magnificently tight ass to sleep."

When Scott inhaled sharply at her flippant remark, he nearly sucked the piece of beef on his fork hovering near his mouth down a lung. He coughed into his napkin and then drained his water glass.

Once the redness faded from his face, Carina said airily, "I only go see foreign films. I find them so much more intellectually stimulating."

Sarah covered her mouth lightly with her fingers and coughed, "_Weekend at Bernie's_," eliciting grins from Chuck and Scott. When Carina narrowed her eyes at her, Sarah forked a piece of herb chicken in her mouth and chewed with arch grin. The DEA agent had made her watch that movie once in a fleabag motel in Kiev on an ancient TV put there during the Khrushchev regime. Sarah could still picture herself sitting on her bed, trying desperately to get the last remnants of mud from the inside of her ear with a towel as they watched the cinematic wonder. She was sure that the movie being dubbed into Ukrainian had actually improved it.

"How about you, Scott?" Sarah asked. "What kind of movies do you like?"

"I like movies about baseball. _Field of Dreams_, _The Natural_, _The Pride of the Yankees_, _Eight Men Out_, _Bull Durham_, movies like that. I played in high school and had a scholarship to the University of Nebraska, but then tore up my knee before my freshman year." He shrugged. "I still graduated from there, just didn't get to play ball."

Sarah saw a glimmer of compassion in Carina's eyes when the redhead gently placed a comforting hand on Scott's arm. Empathy was not usually in Carina's wheelhouse and it was very disconcerting to see. Sarah cut her eyes over to Chuck, who looked as shocked as she felt. He chewed his lamb slowly and distractedly, like a cow ruminating her cud. By the time Sarah's gaze traveled back to Carina, the other woman's "momentary insanity" had passed and was replaced by the usual saucy gleam.

Leaning closer to Scott, she asked in a sultry voice, "So, Scottie, were you a pitcher? Did you take any inspiration from _Bull Durham_ on what to wear under your baseball pants?"

This time, it was Chuck's turned to choke into his napkin while Scott's whole head flamed so red hot Sarah expected it to explode into a mushroom cloud. She had never seen a baseball movie in her life and she didn't know exactly what had set them off, but given Scott's beet red face, Chuck's gasping for air, and Carina's known proclivities, she had a pretty good guess.

After Chuck cleared his throat and took a sip of water, Sarah leaned close to her husband. Their heads together, she whispered, "Women's panties?"

"Close," he murmured back. "Man thong."

Sarah snorted and shook her head. _Typical Carina_.

She started to sit up straight, but Chuck stayed inclined toward her. "Sarah," he said quietly and jerked his head, asking her to lower hers again. When she did, he didn't whisper, but spoke in a soft voice. She knew with the ambient noise in the room she was only one who could hear him. "'I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.'"

Her brain went numb. The sounds around her suddenly muffled and all she could hear was the whoosh of blood pulsing in her ears. "Wha—" was all she could manage. The only words echoing around in her otherwise empty cranium were, "long, slow, deep, wet, soft kisses." She swallowed hard and tried again. She found that she still could only form monosyllabic words. "Wha— Um. You. That's. Um. Wet?" She squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a breath. "I mean, what?"

"It's a line from the movie _Bull Durham_. Kevin Costner's character says it to Susan Sarandon's." His eyes twinkled at her. "You're so adorable when you get all flustered." He straightened, wiggled an eyebrow and with a smug grin took another bite of lamb.

The fuzziness lifted from her brain and she righted herself in her chair. His last sentence gave her the clue as to why he said something to break her brain. It was the payback he'd promised that morning when they talked on the phone. She'd teased him about getting flustered over her in a bikini and now he'd gotten her back. If anything, she deserved it and wasn't about to complain. "Tell me," she said, eyeing him. "Is that what _you_ believe, too?"

"Do you want me to _tell_ you or _show_ you?" Now that their conversation was no longer whispered, Chuck asked the question in such a matter-of-fact tone he could have been a mechanic who'd just found a leak in her Porsche's fuel line.

Her brain almost jolted to a stop again, but she managed to keep her wits. "I'm more of a visual learner, so if you could show me sometime, I'm sure I'll have better retention."

A brilliant grin bloomed across his face. "Well, in that case, I'll be sure to show you later. I'm all about the learning."

Scott and Carina glanced at each other with bored "they're doing it again" looks. "What about you, Sarah?" Scott asked. "What kind of movies do you like?" Sarah guessed he was trying to move the discussion along after Carina's monster eye roll. She wanted to snicker at her friend, but held back, fearing that Carina might stab her with her fork. It was something she'd seen the redhead do to someone once and it hadn't appeared to be a very pleasant experience.

"I like animated movies," Sarah said. "_Despicable Me, Megamind, How to Train Your Dragon_, movies like that. Oh! And I'll watch anything from Pixar." A year ago, she wouldn't have known Pixar from a pick axe. Now she could blithely drop the studio's name without a second thought. She noticed Chuck smiling at her. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that I wouldn't have thought a globe-trotting executive such as yourself would know about Pixar movies."

Sarah narrowed her eyes at her husband and then casually snuck a look at Carina. "Well, it's not exactly as if I've been stuck in a nunnery." The redhead choked on the sip of wine she was taking and glared at Sarah while Chuck laughed.

"Well, nunnery or not, you have excellent taste in movies."

"Thank you," she said with a small bow of the head.

Their conversation meandered from subject to subject as they ate, all the while Sarah keeping an eye on the three men. She was nearly finished with her dinner when the trio stood and walked toward the door. As the men filed past their table, they dipped their heads to the two women in acknowledgement. Once they were gone, Sarah sent a quick text to Casey advising him that the men he was to follow would be arriving in the lobby at any moment.

The foursome wasn't in any hurry to finish their meal since Carina informed them that the club they were going to didn't open until eleven o'clock. When she heard that, Sarah was really glad she'd been able to squeeze those extra three hours of sleep in that morning. Of course, staying out later was going to be so much more fun since Chuck was with her. As it turned out, remaining at the restaurant to appreciate the complete dining experience allowed Sarah to enjoy for dessert the most incredible chocolate soufflé she'd ever tasted. As good as her chocolate soufflé was, however, she savored a small bite of Chuck's Grand Marnier soufflé. The incredible flavor of it nearly knocked her out of her chair.

Once the independently wealthy Charles Charles paid the bill, they left the restaurant and soon were once again on the _Place du Casino_. The façades of buildings facing the plaza were bathed in golden light, giving them an even more rich and opulent appearance. It was obviously the spot to be as the square was filled with people and incredibly expensive cars. Some cars were parked while others drove at a crawl through the crowd. Like so much of Monte Carlo, it was a place to see and be seen.

Sarah, her hand tucked in Chuck's elbow and Carina, hand hooked through Scott's, joined the throng of people and strolled the short distance from the Hôtel de Paris to the piano bar and club called The Living Club. As they approached, there was a line of hopefuls waiting for their chance to show the doorman that they were beautiful enough and dressed well enough to be admitted.

"Oh boy," Chuck said, sounding concerned as they neared the queue. "Are we going to be able to get in?"

"Aw, Chuck, you're so cute," Carina said with a smirk.

"What?"

"I've _never_ been turned away from a club," she stated.

His head snapped toward the redhead. "Never?"

Eyes wide in affront, she asked, "Seriously? Why would they _not_ let me in?" Snickering she said, "Poor Chuck. I bet you've been stuck on the other side of the velvet rope a time or two, huh?"

Sarah gripped Chuck's arm tighter. Her voice dropped and turned threatening. "Back off, Caryn."

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, Sarah. Chuck won't get left behind if he's with you. You've never been turned away either, have you?"

"No," she admitted with a scowl. She hated it when Carina was right. "For the record, Chuck could get in anywhere whether or not I was with him."

"Actually, Sarah, I'm not sure that's—" her husband started.

"Care to make a bet and give it a try?" Carina asked Sarah, her eyes flashing with delight.

"No."

"That's 'cause you know you'd lose."

"Can it, Caryn. This isn't the time or place. And I would _not_ lose," she said emphatically. She tried not to grind her teeth. Her friend had the ability to work her last nerve and took great pleasure in doing so.

"Fine. Whatever," Carina said, dismissing Sarah's irritation with a flick of her wrist. "I really don't want to stand in this line, though." Crooking her eyebrow up, she asked, "You ready to work it, girl?"

Sarah's aggravation with Carina vanished and she bit back a smile. Oh, yes, she was indeed ready to work it. As if someone had flipped a switch, the two women's body language changed from relaxed and easy-going to aggressive and competitive. Each took their date's hand possessively in their own and dragged them along behind as their strolling from a moment earlier morphed into runway stomps with serious attitude.

The two women and their dates—both wide-eyed and shell-shocked by the sudden change—headed straight for the doorman who looked like a character from _The Godfather_. When angry shouts were hurled at them from those already in line for trying to cut ahead, Carina silenced them with a haughty glare from her intense blue eyes.

Between Sarah's sharply raised eyebrow and her accompanying "if-you-don't-let-us-in-there-will-be-hell-to-pay" glower and the penetrating, brain-melting glare from Carina, the usually intimidating doorman cowered as if he was staring down both barrels of a shotgun. He caved and waved them through without hesitation. As they passed by, Carina chucked him under the chin with a finger, eliciting from him a relieved and pleased smile.

As they walked through the terrace where people sat at front of the building enjoying the evening air, Carina gave the other three a satisfied smile. "See? Told you I'd get us in."

"You? Sarah was there, too, you know," Chuck griped and glanced down at his wife.

She squeezed his hand and said, "Chuck, it's okay." The appreciative smile she gave him blunted his ire and the storminess in his eyes cleared. "I'm sure she remembers what's important, right Caryn?" she said, leaning forward to peer past Chuck and giving Carina a pointed glare.

"Of course," the redhead said, her tone airy.

They walked into the club under the burgundy awning that hung out over the entrance. By Monte Carlo nightlife standards, it was still early at eleven-thirty, so while the place was crowded, it wasn't packed. According to Carina, things would really get going around three in the morning. The red walls, leather booths, glowing table lamps and cherry wood railings with brass adornments gave the place a rich, warm feel. On the small stage set up against the back wall, a stunning brunette dressed all in black—save the large red flower pinned at the side of her head, a red fingerless glove on one hand and slash of red lipstick—stood behind a microphone and sang a bouncy, jazzy song about the man she loved and wanted to kiss. Her voice was smooth and velvety and wonderful. The rhythm section behind her bopped along as they played and couples on the dance floor swung to the music. When she started scat singing, some stopped dancing to watch and listen.

The two couples found an open table, sat down and listened as the singer finished the song. At the end, there was immediate and enthusiastic applause.

"She's really talented," Scott said, glancing over at the stage where the woman smiled and bowed, acknowledging the appreciative crowd.

Carina invaded Scott's personal space and ran her hand up and down his thigh. In a hushed, saucy tone she said, "I have many talents of my own."

He stuck a finger between his neck and shirt collar and nervously tugged at it. "I'm sure you do," he rasped.

"Okay," Chuck said loudly, clearly trying to save Scott from becoming a victim of spontaneous human combustion. Throwing a glance toward a wide-eyed Barstow, he said, "Scott looks like he could use a drink. Shall I order us a bottle of champagne?" He smiled at Sarah and added, "And a sparkling water for the teetotalling Ms. Irving?"

She smiled and dipped her head, giving him her thanks. That was followed immediately by Carina's shoe sharply nudging her leg. Again. They really needed to make contact with Benoit or his men and soon. If they had to go to any more clubs, her shins were going to be completely black and blue.

While Chuck and Scott went over to the bar, Sarah checked her phone for messages. Casey had sent her a text informing her the three men from the restaurant had entered the Monte-Carlo Casino. He'd been denied admittance since he wasn't dressed appropriately, so he was camped outside watching the main entrance.

"The Three Musketeers are inside the casino," Sarah told Carina. "Casey couldn't get in, so he's waiting outside for when any of them leave."

"He's blending in with the crowd, I'm sure," Carina said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Sarah chuckled. "I'm sure he's not the only American tourist sticking out like a sore thumb."

"Who's sticking out like a sore thumb?" Chuck asked as he set Sarah's glass of mineral water in front of her and slid into the booth.

"Your manny."

Chuck let out a half laugh. "Yeah. The big guy sticks out like a sore thumb everywhere he goes. Even in the States."

A few minutes later, a waiter carried to the table a silver ice bucket with a bottle of champagne partially submerged in it. After opening the bottle, he poured the champagne into three flutes and then hurried off to attend to another table.

Chuck raised his glass and the other three followed suit. "Here's hoping we accomplish everything we set out to do in Monte Carlo." After clinking their glasses together, they all took a sip of their drinks. Setting his flute on the table, Chuck gazed at Sarah and said, "I've already accomplished one thing here. I managed to meet the most beautiful woman in the world."

Sarah gave him a pleased smile. Before she could respond, Carina said with a wicked gleam in her eyes, "That's sweet of you to say that to me, Chuck, but I'm here with Scottie. Besides, it's not nice to diss your date right in front of her like that."

After gaping at her, Chuck laughed and shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

Carina flipped her hair back and sighed dramatically, "I know."

From the stage, the combo played the introduction to a new song featuring a swingy, rumba-ish rhythm. Couples immediately streamed out onto the dance floor.

"The other thing I want to accomplish while here in Monte Carlo is to dance with the most beautiful woman in the world. No, not you, Caryn." Chuck took his wife's hand and slid out of the booth, pulling her out behind him. Standing face-to-face, his eyes bored in her hers when he said, "Dance with me."

A chill raced up her spine. She could never resist him when he smoldered like that. Having no reason to even try, she smiled and answered, "Okay."

"We'll watch your purse," Scott said. She nodded her thanks, since her Smith & Wesson was tucked away in it. Of course, she still had her knives strapped to one thigh and a small pistol holstered on the other. Between her weapons, the weapons she knew Carina always had with her, Barstow's nine mil and Chuck's tranq gun, they had to be one of the most heavily armed couples on a double date in the history of Monaco. The thought made her chuckle.

She almost had to jog to keep up with Chuck as his long legs strode to the middle of the dance floor. Once they found an empty spot, he tugged at her hand and spun her into him, causing the skirt of her dress to flare out. With one hand on her back and the other holding hers out to the side, she rested her hand on his shoulder. He grinned down at her and waggled his eyebrows. "Ready?"

Despite feeling like her stomach was performing a series of aerial stunts, she nodded and bounced an eyebrow once. "Ready."

They started their dance just as the vocalist began to sing, her supple voice effortlessly gliding up and down with the tune. Sarah could almost hear the wink and smile in her voice as she sang. Colored with a hint of wonder, the soloist brought the lyrics to life.*

From where you are, you see the smoke start to arise where they play cards.  
>And you walk over, softly moving past the guards.<br>The stakes are getting higher; you can feel it in your heart.  
>He calls your bluff.<br>He is the ace - you never thought he played that much.  
>And now it's more than all his cards you want to touch.<br>You never know if winning this could really be enough.  
>Take a look, beyond the moon you see the stars.<br>When you look around, you know the room by heart.

I have never dreamed it.  
>Have you ever dreamed a night like this?<br>I cannot believe it.  
>I may never see a night like this.<br>When everything you think is incomplete, starts happening when you are cheek-to-cheek.  
>Could you ever dream it?<br>I have never dreamed, dreamed a night like this.

Chuck put into words what she was thinking as the lyrics of the song sank in. "I had no idea she would sing a song tonight just for us, although we haven't been to the casino yet."

She smiled as they stepped together to the beat. "I was thinking the same thing." She could picture him in a tuxedo and playing cards.

How many times have I been waiting by the door to hear these chimes?  
>To hear that someone debonair has just arrived.<br>And opened up to see my world before my eyes.  
>That silhouette creates an image and a night I can't forget.<br>It has the scent of something special, I can't rest.  
>If I resist temptation, oh, I know for sure that I will lose the bet.<br>I walked away and suddenly it seems I'm not alone.  
>In front of me he stands - I stopped before he goes.<p>

I have never dreamed it.  
>Have you ever dreamed a night like this?<br>I cannot believe it.  
>I may never see a night like this.<br>When everything you think is incomplete, starts happening when you are cheek-to-cheek.  
>Could you ever dream it?<br>I have never dreamed, dreamed a night like this.

It was uncanny. It seemed as if someone had written the song specifically with her and Chuck in mind. It completely captured her life. She'd been to places like this before and danced with plenty of men. In those moments, however, she'd never dreamed a night like this was ever possible. And yet here she was, in the arms of her debonair husband, dancing in a club in glamorous Monte Carlo. Not bad for the daughter of a con man.

After a short guitar solo, the vocalist sang the chorus once more. When the song ended, Chuck and Sarah released each other and applauded the singer and her band.

Sarah slipped her hand into Chuck's as they walked back to their table. "Thank you for the dance."

"You're very welcome. Maybe we can give it another go a little later."

She knew she'd been hanging around Carina too much when a lascivious response to his innocent comment popped into her head. Keeping their covers in mind, she simply replied, "I'd like that."

Sarah slid back into the booth first and having worked up a bit of a thirst, immediately took several swallows of her water while Chuck sipped some champagne.

"You two are quite the power couple out there," Carina said giving first Sarah and then Chuck approving looks. "Chuck's got quite the moves. Way to swivel those hips." Sliding her gaze toward Barstow, she said in a low voice, "You'll have to show me some of your moves out there on the dance floor, Scottie."

Barstow shifted in his seat and grew visibly nervous. "I, uh, I can try, but I'm not a very good dancer. I'm okay as long as I don't have to actually touch the other person. When I do, I can only slow dance like an eighth grader."

Chuck grimaced and nodded his understanding. "I know what you're talking about. Your hands on her hips and hers on your shoulders."

"And you stand as far apart from each other as you can and still be touching," Scott added, looking decidedly a little green around the gills.

Carina stared at him in disbelief. "Come on, Scottie. You're kidding, right?"

He shook his head mournfully. "I wish I was. My grandma back in Nebraska didn't approve of dancing, so I never really learned. When she wasn't around, my cousins and I always joked that 'you can't have sex 'cause it leads to dancing.'"

The other three at the table couldn't help but laugh. Oddly, their laughter seemed to relax him.

"Did you at least get to go to your prom, or did you have to do a whole _Footloose_ thing?" Chuck asked.

"We had a real prom and I did get to go to it. My date's name was Becky Anderson." From the faraway look in his eyes, he was clearly remembering that night. Sarah wondered about the shudder that snapped him out of his momentary reverie.

"Don't worry, Scottie," Carina said. "I'll slow dance with you, but it won't be at arm's length." She lowered her eyelashes and with a sultry smile, hummed, "I'm the kind of woman your grandma was worried about."

Scott choked a little when he tried to swallow. Biting back a smirk, Sarah was convinced that Scott's survival on this mission would have nothing to do with how dangerous it might be in trying to capture Benoit. Carina was likely to do him in long before then.

True to her word, Carina talked Scott into dancing with her when the band started to play a slower song. The song wasn't actually the best for slow dancing, but Sarah knew Carina wouldn't care. Once on the dance floor, Carina wrapped her arms around Scott's neck and he laced his fingers at the small of her back. "With just one dance I'll make your dreams come true," the singer promised.

Chuck and Sarah stayed at the table and after watching the other couple for a moment, Sarah said, "Scott seems to have mastered the swaying hug."

Nodding, he said, "An American tradition." He took his phone from his pocket and sent a text while Sarah surveyed the room.

"No sign of our friend?"

"No." She'd noticed that the place was growing more and more crowded. "If something's going to happen, hopefully it will happen soon."

His phone chimed and he looked at the screen. As he put it away, she asked, "How are the kids doing?" She tried to say "your kids" but it stuck in her throat.

"They're fine. Everyone's asleep."

"That's good."

The song ended and Scott and Carina returned. The redhead wore a devilish smile as she scooted into the booth. Although Scott's face was flushed, he grinned like an idiot when he sat down next to her. Sarah wasn't exactly sure what it was all about, but she was pretty sure that ignorance, in this case, was indeed bliss.

A few minutes later, Sarah received a text from Casey. She read it and then positioned the phone face up on the table so everyone could read the message. Luc Beaufort and André Robespierre, Benoit's men from the restaurant, had left the casino, walked the short distance to Port Hercule and climbed into a waiting motorboat. Casey had no way of following them, so he had no choice but to let them go. The two men taking off in a boat didn't give them one hundred percent confirmation that Benoit's yacht was in the area, but it certainly went a long way to lead them to believe that was the case.

Sarah sent a text in response advising him of their status and asking him to position himself as backup near the Living Room Club in case Benoit showed up. His reply was a curt, "Roger."

Another twenty minutes passed while the two couples talked, listened to the music and took turns dancing. It was when Scott and Carina rejoined Chuck and Sarah at the table after their most recent trip to the dance floor that the redhead warned the other three in a low voice, "I saw one of Benoit's guys just walk in. He's looking around, I assume for us."

Next to her, Sarah felt Chuck tense. To steady him, she ducked her hand under the table, reached over and patted his thigh. She allowed it to rest there as she glanced toward the man and saw recognition register on his face. His eyes were locked on Carina as he navigated his way through the crowd toward their table.

Sipping her water, Sarah realized that she'd actually seen the man before. Flashing back on her mission at Benoit's Paris house, she remembered the exact moment. Benoit had just "introduced" her to Carina when one of his men approached and whispered in his boss's ear. Benoit had then excused himself and the two men left together. The man who had spoken to his boss that night was the same man now standing before them. She was a little disappointed that Benoit himself wasn't the one standing there, but given the circumstances she wasn't particularly surprised.

Carina took the lead. "I should have known Henri wouldn't show up and send you instead, Roland," she said, her tone tinged with anger. "I'm starting to take him leaving me high and dry in Paris a few months ago personally. Months, I might add, without any contact. Not even a frickin' postcard." Her eyes flashed with aggravation. "I thought he'd jump at the chance to see me tonight after all this time, but I guess he doesn't give a rat's tiny ass about me. Tell your boss he can go to hell." Poor Roland stood stock-still and took Carina's ire with a bowed head. He looked like a boy who had just been chastised for accidently hitting a baseball through a window.

Carina's mercurial performance was so inspired, Sarah was tempted to applaud. While all four at the table knew exactly why Benoit had sent Roland in his place, there could be no hint that Caryn Mitchell had any inkling. Caryn's justified hurt and angry response to yet another perceived slight by Benoit reinforced the idea that she had no clue as to the real reason for Benoit's disappearance and inability to meet her now. Of course, she ran the risk of overplaying her hand, but Sarah knew the effect Carina had on men, whether she was Carina Miller, Caryn Mitchell or a host of other covers. Bob, the poor schmuck from the Rusty Spittoon, immediately came to mind. There was another prime example sitting at her table at that very moment in the person of Scott Barstow. Plus, the fact that Benoit had sent Roland there to speak to Carina rather than simply ignore her was a sign of his real desire to see the redhead again.

"Please understand, Mademoiselle Caryn," Roland pleaded. "Monsieur Benoit wanted to come see you here tonight, but circumstances would not allow it. He sent me in his place to ask if he could see you tomorrow night."

"I've already made plans with my friends here. I'm sure as hell not going to ditch them, especially since I can't be sure Henri will even show up."

"Monsieur Benoit promises to be there." Apparently Roland had been told to not take no for an answer. He turned, slid an empty chair from a nearby table and sat down. "He would really like to see you."

"It's okay, Caryn," Sarah said, turning to face Carina. "I'm sure we can find something else to do while you spend some time with Monsieur Benoit. I know you two are good friends."

"I'm not dumping my friends the way Henri dumped me, Sarah." There was still a snap in her tone.

Sarah knew what her friend was doing. Carina didn't want to take Benoit on by herself and was trying to get more of them invited. Sarah's gaze slid back toward Roland, wondering if he would take the bait.

"Monsieur Benoit would enjoy seeing you again, too, Mademoiselle Irving," Roland said after a short pause. "He's quite pleased that because of him, you and Mademoiselle Caryn have become friends."

"I'd like to see him again, too," Sarah replied. She made sure to sound pleased, but not overly excited even though she was happy by this development. Together, she and Carina could get the job done, especially if they met with Benoit for dinner or something before the gambling commenced.

"That's a start," Carina said, her irritation clearly lessening.

Roland cocked his head and then said, "Perhaps if Monsieur Benoit knew more about Monsieur Charles and Monsieur Barstow, he would invite them along as well."

Chuck's eyebrows shot up. "You know our names?"

"Monsieur Benoit is an extremely wealthy man. He must be sure those he is in contact with are not out to take advantage of him in some way."

While Sarah knew that to be a load of crap, a sense of relief washed over her. Benoit had found Charles Charles. Had he recognized Chuck as Charles Bartowski when he saw his picture, there would have been no reason for him to perform a search. The fact that Roland used the name Charles Charles meant Benoit hadn't recognized him.

"You are a wealthy man, too, Monsieur Charles. I'm sure you understand the feeling."

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do," Chuck replied smoothly. "You seem to already know a lot about me. What else would you like to know?"

"How long have you known these two lovely ladies?"

"We met here in Monaco a couple of days ago. We're all staying at the same hotel and met at the pool."

Roland turned to Scott. "And you are Monsieur Charles' friend?"

"Traveling buddy and friend, yeah."

"You appear to be Mademoiselle Caryn's friend, too."

Sarah was sure Barstow was bristling on the inside, but like a good agent, kept his real feelings hidden. With a disarming smile, he leaned back and said, "What can I say? I have lots of friends. I'm a friendly guy."

Roland's smile in return was guarded. "I'm sure you are." Returning his attention to Chuck he asked, "Do you gamble, Monsieur Charles?"

"I, uh, no. Not really. I played blackjack in Las Vegas once. It didn't go well."

Roland paused, his eyes drifting off to the side. Sarah found that extremely telling. If Roland wasn't wearing a comm device of some sort—one that allowed Benoit to listen in on their conversation and then speak into Roland's ear telling him what to say—she would be really surprised. That would also explain the pauses Roland sometimes took before he spoke.

After another pause, Roland nodded. "Monsieur Benoit would still like to see Mademoiselle Caryn tomorrow evening, but he would also like to be accommodating with her desire to be with her friends as well." He then addressed Carina. "Monsieur Benoit will be at the casino tomorrow night in a private room. It is the only time he will be available to see you. He would like to invite you, Mademoiselle Irving and Monsieur Charles to the game. It is very high stakes—the buy in is five hundred thousand euros—so he understands if only Monsieur Charles plays, if he is willing, of course. You two ladies are welcome to come watch if you choose not to play."

"What about Scott?" Chuck asked.

Roland hesitated and then said, "Regretfully, there will be no room for Monsieur Barstow at the table."

"What if I didn't sit at the table and gave Scott my seat?" Sarah asked. "That way we could all be there. Besides, I don't have the kind of money it takes to play in a high stakes game."

"Regretfully, there will be no room for Monsieur Barstow at the table," Roland repeated impassively.

Sarah nodded her understanding and swallowed a snort. It was obvious that Benoit saw Scott as competition and didn't want him around. At least Benoit didn't seem to care if she and Chuck were together.

Carina turned to Scott. "I'm sorry, Scottie, but I really would like to see Henri. Plus, I've got a whole pile of money burning a hole in my pocket. I'm ready to gamble."

Barstow shrugged. "It's fine. Whatever." Sarah couldn't help but think a little bit of the hurt lurking in Scott's eyes was real.

"I'm up for some gambling, too," Chuck said to Roland. Then he turned to his wife and with his face glowing with expectation, asked, "What about you, Sarah? Will you come be my good luck charm?"

One glance into his face told her that he was ready and willing to do his part to take down Benoit. She wasn't thrilled at the prospect of her husband being as involved in the mission as it appeared he was going to be. Had he not proven himself to be so adept on their recent undertakings, she would have put her foot down, ending any hope that he would be a part of it right then. Unfortunately, everything was riding on getting into the casino with Benoit and with Barstow not being invited they needed Chuck there as their third. Even so, she told herself that if whatever plan they came up with was too dangerous for him, he'd be out and they'd have to come up with something else.

"Of course," she answered with a smile. "It sounds like fun."

A brilliant smile exploded on his face. "Awesome." To Roland, he asked, "What will we be playing? I assume it'll be one of those James Bond casino games an American like me doesn't know how to play. Baccarat, right?"

"No, Monsieur Charles. Poker."

Chuck's eyes flew wide open. "Really?"

"_Oui_. No-limit Texas hold 'em to be precise," Roland replied. "Monsieur Benoit has become quite a fan of the game in recent years. It has grown in popularity here in Europe."

"I thought they only played poker in the other casinos, not the Casino de Monte-Carlo," Sarah said.

Roland folded his hands and set them on the table. "Since it is Monsieur Benoit's private party, they have made arrangements to play the game he has requested."

"Sounds good to me," Chuck said with a nod. "Please be sure to tell Monsieur Benoit I'm looking forward to meeting him and thank him for inviting me to the game."

"I will do so. The game begins at nine o'clock," Roland advised them. "When you arrive at the casino, have them take you to Monsieur Benoit's private room." He stood and returned the chair to the table it had come from. Turning back toward their group, he looked at Chuck and said, "Monsieur Charles, if I could have one of your business cards, we will call you tomorrow with instructions to transfer your buy in money to the casino. It eliminates the need to carry around unwieldy amounts of cash."

"I don't actually have business cards," he said and then looked to Sarah for help. "I'm retired."

She waved a dismissive hand and said, "You can use one of mine." She took one of her cards from her purse and fished out a pen. Sliding them in front of Chuck, she said, "Write your name and number on the back."

"Great idea. Thanks, Sarah." He took the pen, scribbled on the back and handed the card to Roland.

"We'll be in touch." He bid them adieu and walked away.

Once it was clear, Carina arched an eyebrow and smirked at Chuck. "Shuffle up and deal, Chuck. You and I are gonna be playing some cards."

~ O ~

_*A Night Like This_ – music and lyrics by David Schreurs and Vince Degiorgio. All songs referenced in this chapter are sung by Caro Emerald.


	47. Poker Face

**A/N: ** Thank you for the wonderful reviews to the previous chapter and I apologize for not responding to each of you directly. About four hours after I posted the chapter, our Internet went down and our ISP decided we needed to wait five days before they would come fix it. By the time it was back up, I was in the throes of writing this story. Anyway, thank you for understanding.

I want to thank **AgentInWaiting **once again for his hard work on this and every chapter. These chapters make him have the strangest search history as he patiently and diligently double checks details. Thank you, sir.

Finally, thank you to each of you still reading. There is an ending and we will get there. I promise.

**Chapter 47 – Poker Face**

Another late night out in Monte Carlo meant another short night of sleep, even if Chuck, Sarah, Carina and Scott remained at the Living Room Club only briefly after Roland, Benoit's mouthpiece, left. Not wanting to appear as if they were only at the club to speak to Benoit, they stayed a bit longer. Once they felt like they'd accomplished that goal—as well as learning from Casey that, like Benoit's other two men they'd run across earlier in the evening, Roland had walked to the port and driven a motorboat across the water away from the city and into the inky blackness of the night—the group walked to the Hôtel de Paris and retrieved their cars.

After Sarah and Chuck arrived back to the hotel, he walked her to her room and gave her a good night kiss at her door. It was soft and sweet and unassuming, the kind of kiss one would expect at the end of a first date—their first date without any kids along anyway. Even so, it left her weak-kneed and breathless. The way a little smile played on his lips once the kiss ended had her tingling from head-to-toe. In his warm, hazel eyes she saw love and devotion when he whispered, "See you tomorrow."

She leaned against the closed door and watched him retreat down the hall. Once he disappeared around the corner, she heaved a sigh, turned and let herself into her room. Switching on the light, she giggled at the rumpled and disheveled state her bed was still in from when Chuck had pleasantly surprised her before they'd gone to dinner. While she still missed him, their impromptu tussle had certainly helped soothe the ache she felt when sleeping alone.

Much like the previous nights in Monaco, Sarah performed the minimal amount of preparation for sleep. It had been a very full day and her tired body practically shouted for joy when she finally slid into bed and pulled the cool sheet up over her. Chuck's scent still lingered on the linens and a deep breath that drew it in filled her with a peaceful calm. Sleep came immediately.

~ O ~

Sleep might have come quickly and deeply, but it had not been long enough. As much as she felt like she could have slept the rest of the day away, she was now up and trudging down the hall toward Chuck's suite. It was only a few short hours before they would finally be face-to-face with Henri Benoit and the team had to make plans.

She knocked on the door, which immediately swung open to reveal a wide-awake and grinning Chuck. She marveled at his ability to be so energetic after so few hours of sleep. "Hey, Sarah! Thanks for coming to have breakfast with us. I know it's early, but the kids are excited to see you again."

Their excitement was evident the minute she stepped into the room and the door shut behind her. With shouted greetings, she was immediately swarmed by all seven kids and enveloped in a giant group hug. Their energy was infectious and just being in their presence revived and rejuvenated her. Once the community hug ended, one-by-one she embraced each kid in turn. Even though she'd been with them at a dinner and the beach, it hadn't been the same. During those times, she'd been Sarah Irving. Now, behind closed doors, the pretense was dropped and she was simply Aunt Sarah. It felt good.

When she finished greeting the kids, Megan gripped her aunt's hand in both of hers. Wearing an ecstatic grin, she stood next to Sarah and merrily swung the hand back and forth.

Resting her free hand on Chuck's cheek, Sarah gave him a kiss. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he replied and kissed her again. "Are you hungry?" With a tip of his head, he indicated the dining room table covered with food. "We've got fresh fruit and pastries. We could order some eggs or something like that if you want." The kids stood around the table, eyeing its contents hungrily. She knew they were waiting for Chuck to give them the go ahead to go on the attack.

The thought of eating eggs made her stomach roil. The lack of sleep was acting on her like an appetite suppressant. "No," she answered quickly and in a voice louder than she meant. Fighting off a grimace, she said in a lower volume, "Thanks for the offer, honey, but I'm not that hungry. Fruit and a cup of tea would be perfect."

His eyebrows rose. "Tea? You don't want any coffee?"

Coffee sounded vile. Swallowing at the thickness in her throat, she shrugged and said, "No, just tea. I guess I grew to really like it in Moscow."

"Okay, tea it is," he said and went off to brew her drink. From the minibar he called out to the kids, "All right you jackals, let Aunt Sarah get what she wants to eat and then you can dive in."

Megan held firmly to her hand as they approached the table. Looking down at the littlest one, she said, "I'm sorry, sweetie, but I need my hand."

"Nope. I'm not giving it back," Megan said, swinging her head violently from side to side. When the little girl stopped, Sarah knew from the way she swayed she'd made herself dizzy. Sarah smirked when she felt girl's grip on her hand tighten so she wouldn't lose her balance.

Once Megan's equilibrium was restored, Sarah asked, "Why not? You don't want me to eat breakfast?"

"If I don't let go, you can't leave so then you have to stay here with us." The sincerity shining up at her from those big blue eyes nearly ripped her heart from her chest.

Sarah dropped to her knees and pulled her youngest into a fierce hug. "I don't like being away from you either. It should be all over after tonight," she said and rubbed Megan's back. "You and your brothers and sisters are being great junior spies, acting like you don't know Aunt Carina and me." She pulled back and looked into Megan's face. After smoothing a hand over the blonde hair, she chucked a finger under her chin. "We need you to be a spy for a little bit longer and then we'll all be together again like normal. Can you do that?"

Eyes wide and staring into Sarah's, Megan slowly nodded her head. "I can do that."

"I knew you could." She kissed her forehead and engulfed her in another hug. "Are you hungry?" She felt Megan's head nod against her cheek. "Then let's eat."

When Sarah stood—Megan reclaiming her hand again—she saw that the other six kids had been watching. "We all can do it for a little longer," Lisa said for the rest of the group.

Tears burned at the back of Sarah's eyes. "I know you can," she said, her voice thick with emotion. Blinking back the tears, she laughed and said, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I'm a little tired."

"I'm not surprised, young lady, the way you kept our uncle out until all hours last night," Lizzie said. Her voice was stern, but her eyes sparkled with humor. Her brothers and sisters snickered.

"Sorry," Sarah mumbled, dipping her head in mock embarrassment. Looking down at Megan, she asked, "So can I have my hand back again?" The little girl grinned and shook her head silently.

"I'll get your breakfast for you, Aunt Sarah," Fred volunteered. "What would you like?"

"Just some fruit and a pastry. Thanks, Fred." She looked at Lizzie side-eyed and said, "I'll be taking him out again tonight. It'll probably be late."

"Then I think you should take a nap this afternoon," her eldest pronounced, sounding parental.

"Fine," Sarah drawled, pretending to be highly aggrieved. In truth, it sounded like a fantastic idea. "I'll take a nap." Fred chuckled as he handed her a plate laden with her requests.

"Good," Lizzie said with a sharp nod.

"Now that we have that settled, did you get everything you want for breakfast?" Chuck asked as he came to stand next to his wife, holding a cup of tea in each hand.

She looked down at the fruit and small pastries Fred had placed on her plate. They looked delicious now that the gross feeling in her stomach had subsided. It actually growled with hunger. "Mm-hmm."

He winked at her and then intoned dramatically, "Release the hounds!" All at once, the seven kids—Megan releasing Sarah's hand rather abruptly—set on the food, hands and forks flashing as they piled it on their plates as fast as humanly possible. "Bunch of piranhas. You'd think we never fed them at home," Chuck grumbled good-naturedly. Still carrying her cup, he jutted his chin toward the terrace. She followed him outside, set her plate on the small table and sank down into the cushions of a wicker chair.

Chuck sat down in the other chair at the table and sighed. "It seems like a long time since you and I just sat on a balcony in the morning like this."

"It's been a busy few weeks. And months." Using her fork, she cut the orange flesh of a melon into smaller bites and popped a piece in her mouth. With one chew, the juice spread across her tongue and overwhelmed her taste buds with a sweet and smooth flavor. She hummed with delight and speared another piece. Rather than put it in her mouth, though, she held it up near Chuck's lips for him to take.

He dug his teeth into the chunk and pulled it off the fork. After a few chews, he said, "Wow. That's incredible."

She nodded excitedly and said, "I think it's a Cavaillon melon. They grow them not too far from here. We're lucky enough to be here when they're in season." She turned and looked through the window at the table. "If you want some, you'd better hurry." Fred and Curtis were still piling food on their plates. "The human disposals have taken over."

"You're right. I'll be right back."

He leaned forward, kissed her lips as he stood, and went back into the suite. She heaved a happy sigh and sipped her tea. She allowed herself to enjoy these few minutes of respite—the feel of the sea breeze drifting past her as she soaked up the ambiance and gazed out at the blue water—because she knew things were likely to become busy very quickly.

Sarah's gaze roamed over the buildings that made up Monaco, up the tree-covered rocky slopes of the mountains to the white clouds hanging over the peaks. She suddenly grew excited at the thought of being home in Colorado, of her and Chuck sitting out on the balcony of their house, gazing out at their mountains. It was within reach. She could feel it.

Her eyes lowered to the hotel's private beach and watched a couple stroll along at the edge of the water, hand-in-hand. Sarah squinted and bolted upright in her seat when something about the two struck her as familiar.

"What is it?" Chuck asked, sitting down again. He spun around and looked toward where Sarah's stare was riveted. "Is that—?"

Even from that distance, the auburn hair and purple dress were a dead giveaway. "Yup."

"But they left in the Ferrari the same time we did. We followed them all the way back to the hotel parking lot."

"Yes, but remember, they were in her car talking when we left them. You walked me to my room and we both went to bed. We have no idea what they did or where they went after that." She sat back and took a bite of her pastry.

"Should we be worried? I mean we have this really important thing with Benoit tonight. Scott won't be there, but Carina will."

"You know how Graham has given up on trying to control us?" He nodded. "I came to the same conclusion about Carina a long time ago. She's going to do what she's going to do come hell or high water. She might be unorthodox and a bit of a loose cannon at times, but she's a good agent who gets results."

"So you're not worried about her for tonight?"

"No. I'm much more worried about you."

"Me! Why?"

"Chuck, you're not an agent. You're a highly valued asset. My first priority is protecting you. It always has been and it always will be. If I think the plan we come up with to take down Benoit is too dangerous, you're not going to be there."

"But I've been really helpful with the other missions." When she saw clouds form in his eyes, she reached over and took his hand resting on the table.

"You absolutely have been. We wouldn't have succeeded without you. You're brilliant, selfless, brave and an honest to goodness hero."

He colored and looked down to stare at the food on his plate. "I hear a 'but' coming."

"But this time, you'll be face-to-face with the man who's caused your family so much pain." Squeezing his hand, she dipped her head to try to catch his eyes. "I can't let you be there if your emotions will cloud your judgment."

He turned in his chair a little and leaned toward her. "They won't, I promise," he said, his eyes pleading with hers. "I can be Charles Charles just like I was Charles Carmichael in Salzburg. I can do it, Sarah. I can." He looked away and stared out at the sea. She waited and watched him gather his thoughts. He turned toward her again, his gaze settling on her face. "Over the last year, there have been a lot of times when you've asked me to trust you. I always have and you know I always will." Her mouth went dry at the intensity she saw burning in his eyes. "I'm asking you to do the same for me now. Trust me, Sarah. I can do this."

She searched his face as she mulled his words over in her mind. He was right. He trusted her implicitly. On the missions they'd been on together, he had _always_ done what she asked—and sometimes ordered. He trusted her judgment as the trained agent and understood his limitations since he wasn't. And she'd allowed him to go on those missions in the first place _because_ she trusted him to follow her directions. It was time for her to trust him about this. If he believed he could keep his emotions in check and do what needed to be done, she believed him.

"I know you can. And I do trust you." She reached up and brushed her fingers through the curls at his temple. "As long as I think the plan we come up with won't put you in any serious danger, you can be there as Charles Charles."

The smile was halting, as if he didn't believe what he'd just heard. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm. As long as you promise not to go anywhere without the intrepid Sarah Irving as your escort."

His gaze dropped to her lips and he bridged the gap between them. After he kissed her with lips that tasted like sweet cantaloupe, he said, "Now why would I want to ever do that?"

~ O ~

Over the course of the next hour, the rest of the agents converged on Chuck's suite. Casey, having showered in the guys' suite, was the first to arrive. He went directly to the table and ate the few remaining scraps of food. Vegas came next, followed by Barstow and finally Carina. To Sarah the latter two looked surprisingly fresh and alert considering she assumed they had been out all night. But then again, Sarah had long ago learned that when it came to Carina, she should never assume anything. She was just glad she hadn't received an early morning call from the Monégasque police requesting her to come bail them out of jail.

While Sarah really wanted to find out what Carina and Scott had been up to, she knew it would have to wait. They had to work up a plan, prep for it and do it all in just a few short hours.

They got to work right after breakfast. It had taken all the available chairs in both suites and some creative furniture arranging, but they'd managed to get ten people around the table for a Texas Hold 'em training session.

Sarah, shuffled the cards and let Megan—her "assistant" who stood between her and Chuck on her left—cut the deck. Starting with Fred on the other side of Chuck, Sarah dealt the cards around the table to Vegas, Casey, Lizzie, Barstow, Carina, Lisa, Curtis, and finally Chuck making sure that all nine players received two cards, face down.

As the dealer, she checked the pot at the center of the table and said, "Someone forgot to put in their ante."

"Sorry, I forgot," Martie said, tossed a goldfish cracker into the center of the table and then looked up at Casey. Like Sarah, he had an "assistant" who was in charge of putting his "chips" into the pot.

"That's alright, kid. No harm, no foul," the major replied. He received a happy grin in reply.

"Why do I have to put more chips in the pot than everyone else?" Fred grumbled. "Well, everyone else except Agent Vegas. It stinks."

"Maybe you're being punished for stuffing your disgusting underwear under my pillow last night," Lisa said, giving him a dirty look. "Those stink, too, you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, staring down his nose at her.

Lisa, mimicking something she'd seen her aunt do many times, arched a single eyebrow. "Good luck getting those nasty things back, by the way."

"Wait!" He sat up straighter in alarm. "What did you do with them?"

"I was going to throw them in the Mediterranean, but I didn't want to get in trouble for dumping toxic waste into the sea. So let's just say the people who wash the hotel's sheets and towels are gonna wish they wore hazmat suits to work today."

"Nice," Carina said and offered Lisa a high-five, which the teen returned with a beaming smile.

With a groan, Fred sat back in his chair and dragged his hand over his face.

"Don't worry, dude," Lizzie said, her voice filled with encouragement even though her eyes twinkled with mischief. "I think I saw some Hello Kitty underwear down in one of the hotel shops. You could get some of those."

In a flash, a roguish smile lifted at the corners of Fred's mouth. "Nah, that's okay. I'll just go commando—"

"Okay!" Sarah said, raising her voice to cut him off, albeit a little too late. "We'll sort the whole underwear business out later." The stern look—which wasn't all that stern since she couldn't stop the smile playing on her lips—she gave first Fred then Lisa was returned with grins. When brother and sister grinned at each other, she chuckled and let the smile take over her face. It felt good to be with her kids again. It was where she belonged. After heaving a contented sigh, she said, "About the blinds. They're forced bets to make sure there's a decent amount of chips in each pot. But don't worry. They move around the table after every hand, so everyone has to do it at some point. After this hand, Agent Vegas will the small blind and Uncle Casey will be the big blind. Got it?"

With a sharp nod, Fred snapped his head once. "Got it."

"Good. Any other questions before we continue?" Sarah asked.

"I forget," Curtis said from his seat next to her on her right. "Which are worth more? The cookies or the Dragibus candies?"

They didn't have any poker chips, so they'd taken bags of crackers, cookies and candy from the stashes of food from the minibar in each room and dumped them out on the table. The different snacks had then been distributed evenly amongst the nine players and assigned values.

"The cookies, obviously," Bridget answered from where she watched, perched on the arm of the couch.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because the cookies taste better than the candy."

"Says you."

"Thank you," Sarah said, cutting off the opportunity for any more bickering. "Curtis, the crackers are worth one dollar, the candy five and the cookies ten. For every hand put one goldfish in for the ante. When you're the small blind, you have to put in another cracker and two when you're the big blind. After that, if you decide to stay in the hand, I'll help you from there. Sound good?"

He smiled up at her and nodded.

With a wink she said, "Don't eat your winnings."

Laughing now, he answered, "I'll try not to."

"Come on, Walker," Carina said. When Megan shot a glare the redhead's way, she sighed, "Bartowski. Chuckie needs to practice and this is already the weirdest mission prep I've ever been in. We don't have all day so let get this thing moving."

"You're right." Sarah looked to Casey. "Minimum bet's two crackers. You in or going to fold?"

He pressed his fingers on top of his cards, slipped his thumb under the top edges and peeled them up just enough to peek at his hole cards. "Two goldfish," he said. Martie carefully placed two of the snack food into the pot.

Sarah looked to her eldest niece. "Lizzie?"

"Fold," she grumbled and slid her cards across the table to Sarah who put them off to the side.

"Scott?"

"I'll see your two crackers," he said slowly, tossing his bet to the center of the table, "and I'll raise you a Dragibus."

The rest of the table reacted with quiet oohs and ahs.

"Carina?"

"I love a man who's a high roller," she said, her eyes cutting toward Barstow. "I'm in."

"Me, too." Lisa chucked her "chips" into the pot.

"Not me," Curtis groused and pushed his cards next Lizzie's folded hand.

"How 'bout you, handsome," Sarah said to Chuck. Her comment elicited a round of groans from the rest of the table. Her husband's ears and neck flamed crimson.

Carina squinted at her. "I'm watching you, Sarah. No dealing from the bottom of the deck to help your hubby."

"I'm not going to cheat," Sarah answered with a sigh.

"I'm in," Chuck said and placed his bet.

"That's what he—" Carina started.

Chuck and Casey cleared their throats loudly and emphatically while Sarah shot Carina the stink eye. Lizzie, Fred and Lisa glanced back and forth at each other and snickered. Curtis' and Bridget's brows furrowed in suspicion and the two youngest just looked confused.

Before any uncomfortable questions could be asked, Sarah looked to the still smirking Fred.

"I'm, um, I call," the teen said, obviously choosing his words carefully, glancing around the table. Carina, ever the bad influence, winked at him, causing his ears to flame hotter than Chuck's had a moment before.

Sarah shook her head and rolled her eyes. It appeared she'd be putting out Carina's little fires all day.

"The big blind is in," Vegas said.

Casey stuck his unlit cigar between the teeth on the left side of his mouth and clamped down. At the major's direction, Martie added to the pot for him to stay in the hand.

Sarah took the top card from the deck and slid it off to the side into the pile with Lizzie's and Curtis' discards. Then she counted out three cards face down onto the table and then flipped them over all at once. Lining up the cards next to each other, the flop—three of the five community cards all the players would use to try to make the best poker hand along with the two cards dealt to them individually—revealed the six of diamonds, eight of hearts and the nine of clubs. To Chuck, she said, "You bet first this time, honey."

"One Dragibus," Chuck said and pitched one of the colorful candies into the pile. The wagering then continued around the table.

"As much fun as this is," Casey said without moving his jaw, "we need to get our plan set for tonight. We know for a fact Benoit's got both personal and casino security watching over him. Plus, there are enough surveillance cameras set up all over the casino that they'll see your every move. You pick your nose and they'll have it recorded from fifteen different angles."

Lisa kicked her brother under the table. "Don't even think about it, Curtis."

"Ow! I didn't do anything," he said, scowling at her.

"You were thinking about it."

He turned to his sister and let the tip of his finger hover in front of his nose.

"Curtis." Sarah's voice was mild and yet infused with warning. He chuckled and dropped his hand onto the table.

"Back to our problem," Chuck said. "How do we deal with all the security?"

"Do you think you'll be searched before you enter the private room?" Lizzie asked. "If not, you could sneak in some tranquilizer guns and tranq everyone."

Sarah burned the top card from the deck and then turned the next one over. She set the queen of hearts down next to the nine of clubs. The room fell silent while everyone pondered Lizzie's suggestion and their poker hands.

"I call," Vegas said after Chuck and Fred made their bets before him. "The issue would be getting a tranquilized Benoit out of the casino," he continued. "People would definitely notice us dragging an unconscious guy through the lobby."

"Could you sneak him out a side door?" Fred asked.

Casey looked at him, clearly contemplating his idea. "We'd have to recon the place to locate the exits. Might be a problem if they're all alarmed emergency ones, though," he said and then placed his bet.

"We don't know if we'll be searched, either," Sarah said. "What do you think, Carina?"

"They might want to check your purse, Sarah, but all of Benoit's guys know better than to try to look inside Caryn Mitchell's purse. They know they'd get a knee rammed into their danglers so hard—" Carina's words ground to a halt when her eyes landed on a motionless and goggling Martie.

Sarah looked down at Megan standing next to her, the little girl's eyes round and her mouth sagging open as she hung on Carina's every word. "Their what?" she whispered in awe.

"Their, ah…" She looked helplessly at Chuck for assistance in stomping out another of Carina's fires.

"Their, um…" He stared back at Sarah, clearly at a loss as to what to say. Finally, he grinned and tweaked the little girl's nose. "You know what, Megs? The details don't matter. They wouldn't like it is all. Got it?"

Still wide-eyed, she nodded slowly and said, "Got it."

Everyone else around the table started to breathe again.

Play resumed where Barstow raised and Carina, after receiving a withering glare from Sarah, placed her wager into the pot without further comment.

"What if you tried to arrest him before he even shows up at the casino?" Lisa asked and then slid her cards into the ever-growing discard pile. "If he's hiding out on his yacht, he has to get to the casino somehow. Wait for him at the port and then snatch him when lands."

Carina gently nudged Lisa with her elbow. "That's not a bad idea, kid." The girl beamed with pride at the compliment.

"It's a great idea, although the problem is which port?" Barstow asked. "There are two here in Monaco, Hercule and Fontvieille."

"And not just those," Sarah said. "There's also a smaller port over the western border with France called Port de Cap d'Ail. It would be as easy to come into that one and drive to the casino."

With Barstow's raise, Chuck and Casey stayed in the hand while Fred and Vegas folded.

"We can't possibly cover them all," Casey said.

Sarah burned off the top card and flipped the final card of the hand, the "river" card, onto the table. "Six of hearts," she said. She set the deck down and leaned back in her chair. "Casey's right. We can't cover them all and who knows? Benoit might have snuck off the yacht early this morning and is already in Monte Carlo hiding out somewhere."

Chuck peeked at his cards. Choosing not to wager, he said, "Check."

"We'll have to arrest him inside the casino," Casey said and tapped the table twice with his fingers. "Check."

"If that's the case, our best option is to tranq everyone," Sarah said, running a hand through her hair. "We'd have to be quick on the draw, though. What if somebody else fires off a round or two at us before we take everyone out? It's pretty risky."

"Maybe you can pump knockout gas through the air conditioning," Fred said. "Then when he falls asleep, you can tie him up."

"Won't that knock us out, too?" Chuck asked.

Obviously inspired, Bridget bolted up straight and said, "You wear gas masks."

"That would definitely work, but I'm afraid it might be kind of obvious if we carry gas masks in our purses," Sarah said with a small smile. She marveled at how intelligent and quick the kids' minds were. They really were something special. "I like that you're all thinking outside the box, though."

"I'm all in," Barstow said after checking his cards again. Everyone's attention snapped to him.

"On the first hand?" Carina asked, obviously a bit shocked. "Boy, Scottie, you _are_ a high roller." It was the redhead's turn to bet. Her only two options were to call his bet and put all of her "chips" into the pot as well or fold her hand. Sarah's gaze darted back and forth between Barstow's face—which seemed to have turned to stone—and Carina's penetrating stare. "Are you bluffing?" Carina asked quietly, more to herself than him.

"Can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my poker face," Lizzie sang softly in the silence.

"She's got to love nobody," Fred chimed in a lower voice.

After they repeated their lines, Lisa joined in. "P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face."

"Mum mum mum mah," Fred intoned, bobbing his head to the music in his head. He and Lisa chanted their parts again and then stopped. The three grinned and snickered at each other. Carina tore her gaze away from Barstow long enough to shoot them a wink of appreciation.

Sarah felt Megan's hand tap her arm. She leaned down so her niece could whisper in her ear. "Why is Aunt Carina trying to melt Agent Barstow with her eyes? And how come he looks like C-3PO when he got turned off?"

Sarah lifted Megan up onto her lap. Whispering in reply, she said, "She's trying to see something in Scott's face that will tell her if he's bluffing or not."

"What's bluffing mean?"

"If he's bluffing, it means he doesn't have very good cards in his hand, but he's trying to make everyone think he has good ones, ones that will beat everyone else's. If the other players don't think they can beat his hand, they'll fold because they don't want to bet all of their chips and maybe lose. If everyone else folds, he'll win the pot even if he actually doesn't have the best cards."

"Aunt Carina should keep playing if he's bluffing, right?"

"Right. But that's the thing. She doesn't know. Maybe he really does have a good hand. She might lose."

Sarah smiled when Megan scrutinized Barstow with narrowed eyes and a scrunched face. "I don't think he's bluffing," the little girl declared in a loud whisper.

"What makes you think that?" Sarah asked.

"He's too nice to bluff. He would never try to trick anybody, especially Aunt Carina."

Carina turned and regarded Megan with a raised eyebrow. With a tiny nod, she slid her cards toward Sarah. "I'm going with the poker prodigy's read. I'm out." When Megan nodded her head sagely, Carina's tiny smile turned up and she sent the little one a wink.

Everyone in the room blew out their collective breaths and shifted in their chairs. The hand still wasn't over, though. Sarah looked over to Chuck, who seemed perfectly relaxed as he sat back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest and his long legs stretched out under the table. "Chuck, you're up," Sarah said. "You have to go all in or fold."

The tells Sarah read on her husband's face—jaw clenched, nostrils flared, and lips twitching—had nothing to do with poker and everything to do with a comment she'd made in Salzburg. Had they been alone now, she was sure he would have delighted her with a flirty comeback. Given the circumstances, however, it would have to remain unspoken, at least for now. Since he'd checked—not placing another bet when he started the last round of wagering after the last card was shown—Sarah assumed he would follow Carina's lead and fold as well.

Completely calm and never changing his body position, he said, "Call."

A current of excited murmurs rippled through the room.

Quickly on the heels of Chuck's wager, Casey tossed his cards toward Sarah. "I fold like a cheap suit."

Giggling, Bridget shouted, "Cheap suits! Your specialty!" Then she jumped off the arm of the couch, threw her arms around the big man's neck and kissed his cheek while Lizzie and Sarah chuckled. Casey tried to hold back a smile and half-heartedly attempted to shrug the girl off. He was unsuccessful.

Sarah looked first at Barstow and then at Chuck. Both seemed supremely confident that they would win the hand. One was going to flame out of the game in an inglorious blaze. It didn't bode well for the evening's gambling if it was Chuck. With butterflies performing loop-de-loops in her middle she said, "Okay gentlemen, show us your hole cards."

Barstow grinned and flipped his cards over first to reveal the ace and king of hearts. "Ace high flush." With three hearts face up on the table and the two in his hand, he had five hearts. He did indeed have a flush.

"I told you he wasn't bluffing," Megan said. She wasn't bragging, simply stating, to her, the obvious fact.

Shaking her head, Carina said with a hint of wonder in her voice, "I think we need Megan with us tonight."

Megan jerked, twisted to look up at Sarah and said, "Really? Can I go on the mission with you?"

Sarah snorted. "Sorry, kiddo. No way."

The little girl slumped against her in disappointment.

She then whispered in her niece's ear so no one else could hear. "I know for sure you'd be a great help on the mission, but it's too dangerous. Besides, they don't let six year-olds in casinos." She squeezed the little girl to her and added, "I promise to tell you all about the mission when we get back."

Mollified, Megan whispered loudly, "Okay, Aunt Sarah."

Meanwhile, Chuck still hadn't moved a muscle. Sarah couldn't tell if he'd won or lost the hand, a fact that thoroughly impressed her.

"Come on, Uncle Chuck. Show us your cards," Fred said.

With how long his arms were, he didn't even have to sit forward to reach the cards on the table in front of him. He didn't say a word when he turned over his cards. Everyone around the table peered at them. Both Barstow and Curtis stood up to get a better look.

Casey whistled one long, low tone.

"Wow," Sarah managed as she stared down at the six of clubs and the queen of spades. The two cards by themselves were unremarkable. But when combined with three of the other five cards, it was a powerhouse hand.

A pale and stunned Barstow collapsed into his chair, his arms hanging limply at his side. "A full house," he said, his voice quiet with disbelief. "The river card gave me a flush and him a full house."

"The river card giveth, and the river card taketh away," Vegas said. His aphorism earned him an aggravated glare from his partner.

Casey swiped the cigar from his mouth. "I figured Bartowski'd get shot down early when he plays tonight. Maybe he won't completely suck after all."

"Your words of affirmation make me feel all warm inside, Casey," Chuck said with a flat voice. He pushed himself up to sit straighter in his chair and pressed a balled fist to his chest. Grimacing, he grunted and blew out a breath. "No. No, that's just heartburn."

Sarah snickered and gathered up the cards to shuffle the deck after Megan slid from her lap.

"You got a really big pile now, Uncle Chuck," their youngest said, reverently staring at the huge pile of winnings that had been shoved across the table and ending up in front of Chuck.

"For the dealer's assistant," he said, handing her a Dragibus. Tossing another one to land in front of Sarah, he said with bouncing eyebrows, "And one for the dealer." Megan took her piece of candy and popped it in her mouth.

Smirking, Sarah said, "Big spender." She had no idea how many hands had touched that piece of candy, so she chose let it remain where it landed. "Ante up," she called as she shuffled the cards. This time when she dealt, she skipped the still aggrieved, and out of the game, Agent Barstow.

"Come one, Scottie. Cheer up," Carina said, bumping him with her shoulder. "You weren't going to be playing poker with us tonight anyway."

His scowl remained.

"Speaking of which, have we settled on a plan for tonight?" Chuck asked. "Are we going to just tranq everyone in the room and haul Benoit out?"

"It's not the best plan, but it's the only option we've come up with so far," Sarah replied. In truth, she didn't like the plan much at all. Even if she allowed Chuck to be a part of the mission, something she had not settled in her mind yet, the odds weren't in their favor. It was a fair assumption to make that everyone in the room would be Benoit's friends, allies and security. At best, it would be three against nine or ten, perhaps more.

It was Lizzie's turn to start the wagering for the hand. "You can do like that bad guy did when he kidnapped Uncle Chuck at the _Call of Duty_ tournament in Vail last year," she said, placing her bet. "He waited until Uncle Chuck went to the bathroom and clunked Uncle Casey on the head."

Sarah's stomach churned at the memory of going into that men's room to find an unconscious Casey laid out on the floor and Chuck gone. She swallowed back the bile that had worked its way up her throat.

While Sarah wrestled with her memories of that terrible evening, Casey, Vegas and Barstow simultaneously reached up and rubbed the backs of their heads. It was as if they could still feel the lumps put there by the blows delivered by the now deceased Daniel Shaw.

Once she stuffed her recollections back into the hole from where they came, Sarah gave Lizzie's idea some thought. Her gaze rested on her niece and she said, "That's not bad, Liz. Casey and Vegas will be at the casino already as backup. They could watch for Benoit to go to the bathroom and follow him in."

"He'll have security with him," Vegas pointed out.

Fred spoke up. "You tranq them once you're inside the bathroom."

Lisa held both hands over her cards and hunched over to peek at them. Sitting up straight again, she asked, "What if a couple of bodyguards stand outside the door and won't let you in?"

"We make sure they're distracted from what they would usually do," Carina answered.

Seemingly without realizing what he was doing, Curtis picked up a cookie from his pile and munched on it thoughtfully. "How would you do that?"

"I've got something called solflaxipac. It's kind of like ipecac syrup."

With a furrowed brow, Martie asked, "What's ipecac syrup? Is it like the syrup we put on our pancakes?"

The redhead shook her head. "No, you wouldn't want to do that. It makes you vomit."

With a grimace, Bridget stuck her tongue out between her teeth in disgust. "Gross."

"Why would you _want_ to vomit?" Megan asked with a shiver. It was clear from the tone of her voice she thought it was the craziest thing she'd ever heard.

Chuck lifted her up and plunked her down on his lap. "It's usually used when someone swallows poison and they need to get it out of their stomach really fast."

Sarah's gaze had followed each speaker until her eyes rested on her friend. "Carina's stuff makes him feel terrible, so he heads off the to the bathroom," she narrated. "His security guys go with him, but he's so sick they're only focused on helping him. They're so distracted—do they need a doctor, should they call an ambulance—security concerns take a back seat to his health."

Carina picked up the story. "Casey and Vegas go into the men's room and take out the guards. Henri can't fight back because he feels like death warmed over. They pretend to be his bodyguards and help poor, nauseated Henri out to the car before anyone figures out what's going on."

"How do you get him to take it?" Fred asked.

"I'll slip it into his drink," Carina answered with a wave of her hand. With an arched eyebrow and a hint of a smirk, she added, "It's colorless, tasteless, odorless and works in about five minutes. He'll never know he drank it. He may not puke, but he'll wish he would. At the DEA, we call it 'Liquid Nausea.'"

All the talk about vomiting started to make Sarah feel queasy. She closed her eyes, took a deep, cleansing breath in through her nose and blew it out slowly through her lips.

"You okay?" Chuck asked, his voice filled with concern. He set Megan on her feet between him and Fred and slid his chair closer to his wife. He reached out and gently rubbed her back.

"Yeah," she replied, taking another deep breath before opening her eyes. "The topic is starting to get to me."

"Let me get you some water." He jumped out of his chair and was back in no time with a bottle for her.

"Thanks, sweetie." She took several small sips and began to feel better.

Curtis spoke up. "Aunt Carina, why do you have something with you that makes people throw up?"

"In my line of work, you never know when something might come in handy for a mission. And remember, I work for the DEA. You'd be surprised at the weird drugs I can get my hands on. I've got stuff that will knock you out completely, one that will make you hallucinate and one that's a truth serum. I've even got one that makes the person you give it to more susceptible to the power of suggestion."

"You mean like they're hypnotized?" Lisa asked.

"Yeah, kind of."

Fred flashed a grin. "Maybe you should give Benoit that one and then tell him he's a chicken." He followed up his suggestion with making some rather impressive clucking noises.

"As much as I'd like to see that pimple on the butt of society act like a complete idiot by clucking like a chicken," Casey said, with an appreciative look sent Fred's way, "it might call a little too much attention to us."

Softly rubbing his wife's back again, Chuck said, "The moral of the story, kids, is never drink anything Aunt Carina ever offers you."

At the explosion of laughter, Carina rolled her eyes and snarked, "Ha, ha, Chuckie."

Lisa gave Carina a sly look. "Have you ever used a love potion?"

"I don't need one of those," she answered airily.

Half the table giggled while the other half groaned. Barstow smirked and his head bobbed ever so slightly.

"We've got ourselves a plan, huh?" Casey asked.

The agents glanced at each other and nodded. Silently, the strategy was accepted.

Chuck leaned closer to Sarah and asked, "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. Much better. Thanks."

"Good." He paused and then said, "Since it looks like most of the action in taking down Benoit won't happen in the room where we would be…" Eyebrows raised, he looked into her face hopefully.

The only thing that had to happen in the room where Chuck would be was for Carina to slip the Liquid Nausea into Benoit's drink. Chuck had nothing to do with that and would only be there to play poker. And she'd be there with him. If she perceived even a hint of trouble for him, she'd get him out of there. Now that Charles Charles and Sarah Irving were seen as a couple, all she'd have to do to quickly get him out of the room would be to make a flirty pass at him and lead him out the door by the hand. No one would question them. She blew out a sigh. "Yes, you can be there."

A smile of thanks flashed across his face and then quickly disappeared. It was replaced by the same grim determination she'd seen on his face the morning in Moscow when they said goodbye to his parents. The eyes that stared into hers were confident and steadfast. "I can do this, Sarah."

She rested her hand on the side of his face and rubbed her thumb across his cheek. "I know."

~ O ~

It took a few minutes for Sarah to fully awaken and when she did, she was surprised by the fact that she'd been asleep in the first place. She had been sitting on the couch with Chuck, watching television with some of the kids after the poker game had broken up and everyone had eaten lunch. Thinking about it now, she did recall the screen growing blurry as she struggled to keep her eyes open. The last thing she remembered hearing was Lizzie's seemingly far away voice saying, "I think it's time for Aunt Sarah's nap." Apparently, her niece had been right.

Now, Sarah lay on her side with her knees bent and her head on a pillow. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly, her eyelids fluttered open and she took stock of her surroundings. When a pair of knees filled her vision, she quickly deduced that the pillow rested on Chuck's lap. At least she hoped it was Chuck, otherwise things were going to get awkward really fast. She noted that the TV was off and there seemed to be no kids around. Other than the occasional shouts and peals of laughter drifting through the open terrace door on the soft breeze, the room was quiet.

Flipping onto her back, she gazed up at Chuck. After another deep breath she said in a sleepy voice, "Hi."

Chuck looked away from his phone, smiled down at her and bounced his eyebrows once. "Hi there, Sleeping Beauty. Did you have a good nap?"

After a stretch and a yawn, she nodded. "Best nap ever. I don't remember laying down though."

"Your eyelids got all droopy and the way your head kept rolling, it looked like it weighed about eighty pounds. When you started to list to one side, I just sort of guided you the rest of the way. Bridget went all ninja and slipped the pillow under your head right before it would have hit my bony thighs."

"I was so sleepy, I probably wouldn't have even noticed your bony thighs." She yawned and blinked her watering eyes. "I'm not sure why I've been so tired lately. I guess I don't sleep as soundly at night as I think I do when you're not there beside me." She wiggled her shoulders to settle in. "I do appreciate the pillow, though. Very comfy. I have no plans to move anytime soon, if it's okay with you."

"I don't mind at all. I'm always happy to be your pillow."

"How long was I asleep?"

He brushed a finger across her forehead, sweeping a rogue strand of blonde hair to the side and then stretched his arm across the back of the couch. "A little over two hours. I hope it was long enough. Everyone took off so it would be quiet for you to sleep."

"I wondered why it was so quiet."

"Carina took Lizzie, Lisa and Bridget with her to shop for a new dress for tonight."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding. Carina went out with three kids? By herself? I'm not sure that's the best idea in the world." With a groan, she said, "One afternoon with Carina and three of our girls will end up with criminal records. I hope bail's not too steep. With three, it could get pricey."

Chuck let out a guffaw. "Only three?"

Smirking, she replied, "Carina's on her own."

He chuckled louder. "I don't think you need to worry about Interpol coming after them. Casey came to the same conclusion you did and told Carina she wasn't allowed to be in charge of three impressionable young women. So he went with them."

She blew out a sigh of relief. "Well, he is their manny. It's no guarantee he wouldn't end up in trouble, too, but it's a start."

"He's a brave soul," Chuck intoned solemnly. "Four strong willed women up against The Lone Major? The best he can hope for is to come back with only having had his eyebrows waxed."

She laughed out loud. Reaching up, she took his hand from where it rested on top of the cushions, laced her fingers through his and rested their entwined hands on her belly. "That leaves the boys and the two little ones. Where are they?"

"Lars and Scott took them to the pool. Lizzie and Lisa got the girls ready to go before they left with Carina and Casey." With a conspiratorial smile, he added, "Megan was really excited. I heard her tell Scott as they went out the door she had a whole Spy Barbie poolside mission ready for her, him and Martie to play."

"Something I'm sure the freshly minted Agent Barstow never thought he'd be doing when he graduated from the Farm," she said.

"Probably not, but when he asked her about the mission's parameters in an absolutely serious tone, she actually squealed."

"Another adult securely wrapped around her little finger," Sarah said with a chuckle. "What were you looking at on your phone when I woke up just now?"

"I was reading a Texas Hold 'em strategy book I downloaded."

"Why? You did really well when we played earlier today."

"No offense, but I have the feeling Benoit and whomever I'm going to be playing against will probably be _slightly_ more cut-throat than our nieces and nephews."

"I'm sure they will be, but whether you win or lose isn't an element of the mission."

"I know, but I don't want to go bust in the first half hour, either."

"That's true."

"Plus, I still have Casey's heartwarming words of encouragement bouncing around in my head. 'Hey, Bartowski, I still can't believe the U.S. government is giving you a half a million euros to play poker with. Just remember, that money you'll be throwing around comes from hard-working American taxpayers. Try not to lose _all_ of it.'"

Sarah heaved an exasperated sigh. "He's such an inspirational motivator, isn't he?"

Chuck's only response was a snort.

"By the way," she said, switching gears, "what are you going to wear tonight? The same suit you wore last night?"

"Please!" he answered as if he were horribly offended. "Charles Charles would never wear the same suit two nights in a row."

"But—"

"Bridget has it all figured out."

"She does?"

"Yup. Dior knows my size from the suit she helped me buy there yesterday, so today she's going to go pick out a tux for me and buy it."

"You're giving her carte blanche, just like that?"

"Mm-hmm. Lizzie and Lisa are with her, too. I trust them to get me something appropriate."

"I don't know," Sarah mused. "With Carina along, she might talk them into buying you a powder blue polyester tux with velvet trim and a ruffled shirt."

"A look I would rock," he deadpanned.

Giggling, she said, "Yes, you would."

He smiled and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "From what I saw yesterday, Dior doesn't have anything like that in their store." Cocking his head, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. "Although now you've got me worried that they'll go someplace else and come back with a tuxedo that has short pants and purple fur lapels."

"A look you would rock."

This time it was his turn to snicker. "Yes, I would."

She tipped her head back a bit to look up at him. "And I was just kidding before. We all know Carina's favorite pastime is tweaking people, but she understands how important this mission is. She won't do anything to jeopardize it."

"So she won't try to make me wear a tuxedo that's entirely zebra print?"

"No," she said with an involuntary shudder. "And if she did, I'd kick her ass."

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "You would?"

"Mm-hmm." She sat up, snuggled into his side with his arm now draped around her shoulders. After tossing the pillow off to the side, she tucked her feet up next to her and leaned her bent knees against his thigh. "The only women in your life that get to pick out your clothes for any reason are related to you either by blood or marriage." She waggled her eyebrows at him. "Besides, inside that casino tonight, my man's going to look like James Bond in his classic black tuxedo."

"Bond? Please, my good woman." He leaned his head back a little and peered down at her from under lowered eyelids. "The name is Nerd. James Nerd."

"Of course. My apologies, Mr. Nerd," she murmured and kissed his cheek.

"Apology not accepted." The eyes that gazed into hers swirled with a mixture of fun and seduction. "You're going to have to do a lot better than a piddly little kiss on the cheek."

Her breath hitched and her whole body began to tingle. Her stare dropped from his eyes to his mouth as she slowly brought her face closer to his. She stopped when their parted lips almost touched. Tantalizing him, she didn't move. His eyes seemed to lose focus as he sluggishly blinked and his muscles quivered under her touch as he waited.

After what seemed like an eternity, she breached the sliver of space between them and lightly grazed her moistened lips across his. "Would a long," she whispered as she swept them over his again, "slow," and again, "deep," and again, "wet," and again, "soft kiss that lasted three days work?"

She took his low, half-sigh, half-growl as a "yes" and settled her lips on his. It was a long, slow, deep, wet, soft kiss that lasted three days.

So lost was she in the sensations of their kiss, she didn't hear the click when the hotel door unlocked. Only after the door swung open and the crew that had been shopping—now loaded down with boxes and bags—tumbled into the room, did Chuck and Sarah part.

"Told you, Aunt Carina," Lisa said with a hint of smugness in her voice. "You owe me five bucks."


	48. With A Little Luck

**A/N:** This will be short and sweet. Thank you all so much. You are the best. Yes, I mean you.

Thank you, **AgentInWaiting, **for your great beta work.

Here we go.

**Chapter 48 – With a Little Luck**

"I wish I could go back in time and tell my nerdy and awkward twelve year-old self about this," Chuck said as he, Sarah and Carina walked across the _Place du Casino_ toward the front entrance of the Casino de Monte-Carlo. "I mean, look at me. I'm in Monte Carlo with a knockout blonde on one arm and a gorgeous redhead on the other. I'm in a tuxedo that I actually _own_ and we're about to go play high stakes poker in a private room in the most famous casino in the world."

Sarah smiled and squeezed his arm at the awe and disbelief she heard in his voice. It had that "this-is-completely-surreal-I-can't-believe-this-i s-actually-my-life" quality to it. She knew exactly what he was feeling, although for her it was never about exotic locales or fancy clothes. That same sense of awe usually hit her when she sat at the dinner table, eating and laughing with Chuck and the kids or when they all piled together on couches and chairs in the TV room for Friday movie night. If she could, she would go back and tell her lonely and guarded twelve year-old self that she would some day become part of the kind of family she always craved.

"Aw, Chuckie, do you really want your twelve year-old self to know that when he grows up he'll still be nerdy and awkward?" Carina asked. A devious smile flashed on her face. "And that he _never_ learned all the words to _Baby Got Back_?"

He barked a laugh. "Yes, but he'll be a stinking rich and well-dressed awkward nerd," Chuck parried.

And well-dressed he was. The tuxedo he wore was not baby blue or zebra print, nor did it sport velvet or fur. It was black and classic and Dior. The worry Bridget had voiced to Sarah before Chuck's big "reveal" about his collar being too formal and maybe he should be wearing a different shirt was all for naught when Sarah's jaw dropped in admiration at the sight of him. Between the black onyx studs down the front of the wing collar shirt, black bow tie and satin shawl lapels, he nearly knocked Sarah off her feet. A pleased and satisfied grin had overtaken Bridget's face. Their niece had really outdone herself this time.

"And for your information, Ms. Mitchell, I never tried to learn all the words to _Baby Got Back_," he said with a superior sniff. "I was too busy trying to learn the line dance to _Achy Breaky Heart_."

Sarah smiled and Carina laughed out loud as the three passed under four large lamps that hung at the front of the black wrought iron and glass canopy decorating the front of the building. As they carefully climbed the steps toward the casino's front doors, Sarah kept her left hand securely hooked around her husband's bent elbow and used the other to lift the front of the skirt of the long, sapphire blue dress—the one she'd worn to the opera in Berlin—to keep her feet from tangling in it.

"I don't need to go back and tell my twelve year-old self anything," Carina said as she, like Sarah, raised the hem of her long, cream-colored sheath dress to keep from tripping.

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Chuck asked.

"I was awesome at twelve and knew I'd still be awesome now." She tossed her auburn hair and said in a breezy tone, "I was right."

Sarah snorted while Chuck shot Carina a sidelong glance and said, "Your low self-esteem concerns me, Caryn."

Carina's hearty guffaw to Chuck's snide comeback made Sarah smile. She was happy to see her husband and her closest friend growing comfortable with each other. He was much more relaxed around Carina and had learned to take her snarky comments in stride. And while she knew Carina would never admit to it, Sarah noticed her friend's burgeoning respect for Chuck. To others, Carina laughing at Chuck's barbs would seem insignificant. But knowing Carina as well as she did, it was definitely a big deal. She would never, however, point any of that out to her friend.

They reached the top of the steps, passed through one of the arched doorways and into the casino. Sarah immediately felt like she'd been transported a hundred-fifty years back in time. As they strolled across the white and black tiled marble floor, she soaked in the opulent surroundings: the light brown veined marble columns, the warm wood doors with ornately carved decorations above the doorways and the huge mirrors and scones affixed to the walls. It was warm and beautiful and elegant.

"Talk about slumming it," Chuck murmured, turning his head this way and that.

They stepped into the atrium and Sarah's eyes were immediate drawn upward to the rectangular frosted decorated glass and iron skylight above them. Painted garlands, cartouches and other intricate designs decorated the bronze colored ceiling around the skylight. The entire room was a symphony of Beaux-Arts architecture and design.

While Sarah gazed up at the ceiling, she was doing more than appreciating its beauty. She was, at the same time, trying to locate the many security cameras that were certainly placed all around the casino. To her surprise, she didn't see any. They were probably very small and hidden in the many ornate wall decorations. It impressed her at how well concealed they were, but at the same time she realized a place like this would use the most cutting-edge security equipment available.

"There're a lot of bottle blondes, fake boobs and hair plugs in here," Carina said as she checked out the clientele. "I guess if you have enough money, you can buy anything."

"The body parts might be fake, but I bet the jewelry is real," Sarah said as she eyed an exquisite diamond necklace worn by one of the aforementioned augmented blondes.

Carina leaned forward to look past Chuck and give her a smirk. "Speaking of jewelry, don't think I didn't notice the bling you've got in your ears, Sarah. Trust me, I can tell the difference between real and fake. Those sapphires and diamonds of yours didn't exactly come from a gumball machine."

"They were a present from a wonderful man I know," Sarah said. When she hugged Chuck's arm a little tighter, she saw the barest hint of a smile grace his face.

"Boy, the poor guy must have really screwed up big time to have to shell out the big bucks for those rocks," the redhead teased.

"I had no idea you're such a hopeless romantic, Caryn," Chuck said. His tone was even while his smile never lessened.

"That's me, Chuck," she replied, her voice sounding as dry as dust. "I'm all about the puppies and rainbows and glitter and unicorns."

"I knew it," he said as the three turned to the left and approached a podium to check in before they would be allowed to enter the gaming rooms.

A tuxedoed man looked up from the computer in front of him and smiled. "_Bonsoir, mesdemoiselles et monsieur. Bienvenue au Casino de Monte-Carlo_."

"_Merci_," Sarah replied, returning his smile. Continuing in French, she said, "My name is Sarah Irving. This is Charles Charles and Caryn Mitchell. We are here at the invitation of Monsieur Benoit." When she spoke Benoit's name, she felt Chuck flinch under her hand. Without taking her eyes off the man she was speaking with, she moved her hand a little so it rested on Chuck's forearm and rubbed her fingers back and forth over it to help settle him.

She couldn't really blame him for his reaction. They were about to be face-to-face with the man they'd been looking for their entire trip, the man half the planet was looking for and the man whose arrest would set their family free. Keeping her tone even and matter-of-fact, she said, "We were told to ask to be taken to his private room when we arrived."

"Yes, I will have someone take you there after I have checked each of your passports." He raised his hand and snapped his fingers once. As if by magic, a younger man appeared at the podium.

"He needs to see your passport, Chuck," Sarah said. While she and Carina opened their purses, Chuck slipped a hand in his inside jacket, removed his passport and handed it over. The man gave it a cursory glance and then handed it back. "Welcome, Mr. Charles," he said to Chuck in English.

"_Merci_," he replied and slid his identification back in his pocket.

After the women's passports were quickly looked over, Chuck paid the entrance fee for the three of them. Then the man indicated his assistant and said, "François will now take you to Monsieur Benoit's private room." François dipped his head. With a smile, the first man said, "Enjoy and good luck."

"Thank you," all three replied together. "I'm gonna need it," Chuck added with a rueful smile.

François made a small bow from the waist and said, "If you will follow me please."

Chuck swept out his hand, motioning for Carina to take the lead. She stepped around the podium, took François' proffered arm and started off toward the open doors in front of them. Sarah once again slipped her hand around Chuck's elbow and the couple fell in step behind them.

They walked through the doorway behind the podium and into to the gaming room known as the Salle Europe. The colors and decoration style continued from the atrium. Muted green and bronze walls were covered by large oil paintings of eighteenth century French aristocratic life. Eight large crystal chandeliers hung in a circle around the round glass and iron skylight at the center of the ceiling. Sarah's heels sank into the thick, plush carpet as they walked past the green felt-topped gaming tables. While the players sat in chairs at the different tables, spectators stood and watched on the other side of velvet ropes or brass railings with green leather padding across the top.

The room was filled with the sounds of clattering chips, the roll and bounce of the marbles on the roulette wheels and the cries of victory or the groans of defeat of the gamers. Scanning the area, Sarah saw Casey and Vegas sitting at one of the roulette tables. One glance at the sign next to the table told her why they had sat at that particular one. The minimum bet was only five euros. She knew the guys didn't want to burn through their money before Carina had a chance to slip Benoit the "Liquid Nausea" to make him feel sick. Sarah allowed herself a small smile when she noticed Casey wearing a new tie and shirt with the suit they'd bought for him in Moscow. Bridget had been very busy during the day's shopping spree.

Chuck took in a deep lungful of air and slowly exhaled as they approached the private room and Henri Benoit. Gazing up at him, Sarah saw his lips pressed in a thin, grim line and read the stress on his face. The relaxed manner and easy banter the three of them had enjoyed moments before had vanished. Making a snap decision, she slid her hand down his arm and laced her fingers with his. Perhaps it was too intimate a gesture for Charles Charles and Sarah Irving, a couple the world believed was in a casual, yet budding relationship. At that moment, though, she didn't care what people thought. Encouraging and reassuring her husband was the most important thing to her. She knew he needed her touch. He needed her strength. He needed to feel the confidence she had in him through her contact and was determined to give it to him no matter what.

He squeezed her hand and his smile, so filled with relief and gratitude, assured her that she had made the right decision. Her gaze was unwavering when she captured his and dipped her chin in an almost undetectable nod. His nod in response was equally covert. That tiny gesture and the resolve that appeared in his eyes reassured her even more. He was ready. Calm and focused, so was she.

They reached a closed door with two very large and imposing men standing like sentries on either side of the doorway. Sarah had never seen either of them before and from Carina's lack of immediate flirting, neither had she. That told her they weren't Benoit's men, but part of the casino's security team.

"I'm sorry," François said in an unapologetic tone, "but before you can enter the room, the contents of your purses must be examined. And Monsieur Charles, if you could remove your jacket, it must be inspected as well."

Sarah and Carina opened their clutches for the guards to search while Chuck removed his jacket after a translation from Sarah. A frown immediately turned down on the face of the man looking into Carina's purse. Reaching in, he lifted a small caliber pistol from it. "I must take this. You may not have it inside the casino," he stated in no uncertain terms.

"I'm not going to mug anybody," Carina shot back, her eyes flashing with irritation. "I carry it for personal protection." Assuming their possessions would be searched before they entered Benoit's presence, it had been part of their plan for Carina to carry a weapon in her purse since it was well known by Benoit and crew that Caryn Mitchell often did. It was also well known that Ms. Mitchell didn't like being searched.

"You cannot have it here," the big man repeated. "Inside the casino, _we_ will protect you."

"Fine," Carina said with a huff. "I want it back when I leave."

Getting the pistol into the room wasn't important. As long as the guards didn't frisk them, they would still be armed. The hidden weapons would be a lot harder to explain.

"You will," he said as he slipped the pistol into his pocket. He then took Carina's cell phone and set it down amongst a number of other phones on a table next to the door. "You may not have your mobile phones with you while you are inside the room."

Surprised, Sarah's voice rose when she asked, "What? Why?"

"Monsieur Benoit's request."

With a scowl, she watched her phone be placed next to Carina's. Thinking it over, she had to admit it made sense. It took away the ability for anyone to take Benoit's picture, record anything he said or communicate with anyone outside the room for any reason. This unexpected demand put a minor kink into their plan, though. To be on the safe side, they had decided against wearing earwigs to communicate with Casey and Vegas and planned to use cell phones instead. Now she would have no ability to contact them if needed. Hopefully, the two agents saw the phone confiscations and adjusted accordingly. At least the three phones in question were their "cover" phones and not personal ones. The other thing she didn't like was being out of contact with Barstow and the kids. Maybe she would try to check in with the agent during a break in the poker action.

After their cell phones were taken away, Sarah's purse was found to be without contraband as was Chuck's jacket. Fortunately, they were not frisked and the rest of their belongings were returned. Sarah helped Chuck slip his jacket back on and took his hand again as one of the guards opened the door.

Now that he had discharged his duty, François said, "Good luck," and hurried away.

They didn't even have to enter the room to see André, Benoit's bodyguard they'd seen at Le Grill the night before, standing just inside the doorway. Carina led the way and chucked a finger under André's chin as she sauntered past. "Hello again, handsome."

As Sarah and Chuck trailed behind the redhead, she noticed the bodyguard fighting to keep a smile from emerging. Other than the corner of one side of his mouth lifting up, she thought he was doing an admirable job.

"Caryn, how many times have I warned you about flirting with my employees," Henri Benoit said, his voice booming with merriment. Between the delight shining on his face, his huge smile and the twinkle in his eyes, it was obvious he was thrilled to see her again. He approached her with hands out, took both of hers in his and kissed her cheeks in greeting.

"You know I have to flirt with _somebody_, Henri. What am I supposed to do after the way you left me high and dry a few months ago?" Carina asked with a pout. She left enough teasing in her voice to let him know that she wasn't _that_ angry with him.

"I am so very sorry, my dear," Henri said, "but it was unavoidable. I was involved in some very delicate business negotiations that forced me to leave unexpectedly. I hope my abrupt departure was not too much of an inconvenience for you."

"You know me, Henri," she replied with a wink. "I always find _something_ fun to do. That's what brought me to Monaco on holiday."

"Yes, what a wonderful coincidence that I'm here now as well. But Monaco is the place to be this season, is it not?" He turned and smiled at Sarah. "It's wonderful to see you again, Ms. Irving." She released Chuck's hand and lifted hers to Benoit, allowing him to kiss the back of it in greeting. "I cannot express my pleasure enough in knowing that it was I who brought you and Caryn together to become such fast friends."

The man exuded charm. Sarah found it easy to return his smile. "Please, Monsieur Benoit, call me Sarah. And yes, Caryn and I became friends, thanks to you. We're having a wonderful time here in Monaco."

Benoit's eyes filled with amusement and cut over to Chuck. "Yes, it seems you've been enjoying it here and making new friends," he said to her. He couldn't have missed her holding Chuck's hand when they entered the room, so his easy acceptance of the two of them as a couple relieved her. She had only met Benoit the one time at his house in Paris, so she hadn't been overly concerned that he might have taken an interest in her. Even so, with a powerful man like him, one who went after what he wanted, she couldn't be sure. Now that the evidence was clear that he had no interest in her and was focused on Carina, it would make everything easier.

Lowering her chin, her smile turned shy. "Yes." Switching from French, which had been spoken by everyone until that moment, Sarah said, "Monsieur Benoit, I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Charles Charles. Chuck, this is Henri Benoit."

Sarah forced her smile to remain as she studied Chuck's face, closely watching for any signs that the mask of his alias would slip and the pain and anger inside caused by the man before him would be exposed. To her discerning eye, she did notice that his smile didn't reach his eyes. Since she knew him better than anyone, she hoped she was the only one who noticed the tautness in his bearing as the two shook hands. If observed by others, hopefully the tension in his body could be chalked up to the roiling nervousness of playing high stakes poker.

"It's very nice to meet you, Monsieur Benoit. Thank you for inviting me to play tonight. I'm honored," Chuck said. Sarah heard the tightness in his voice, but his smile was unwavering. "And call me Chuck. All my friends do."

"I am both delighted and flattered to be numbered as one of your friends," Benoit said expansively. "And I insist that you both address me as Henri. We are all friends here." Cocking his head to one side, Benoit asked, "Since your lovely escort is now speaking English, am I to understand that you do not speak French?"

"Sadly, I don't. Well, I know a little." Chuck's smile turned sheepish. "Only know enough to get slapped."

Benoit's laughter boomed as he grinned and clapped Chuck on the back. "Very good, Chuck. I like you already." He turned to Carina, took her hand and hooked it through his bent arm. "Come and meet my friends. These are the people you will be playing poker with tonight."

"Oh, no. Before we do that, I want to know what this is about," Carina said. She reached up and brushed her fingertips over his well-groomed gray beard. "This is new."

"Do you like it?" he asked, smoothing his hand over the whiskers. "I thought it might be interesting to try something different."

_And change your appearance_, Sarah thought to herself.

"I do like it," the redhead replied with a wink. "It's sexy."

Henri Benoit, one of the most hunted men in the world, grinned at her compliment like a smitten schoolboy. He'd only been in Carina's company for a few minutes and he was already putty in her hands. As Sarah took Chuck's arm again, she gave her friend mental kudos. Carina might be irreverent and unpredictable, but she was very good at her job.

They skirted around the green felt-topped oval poker table and reached the other members of the party. Sarah had already scanned the room when they first entered and recognized several of their faces, but couldn't see all of them since some had their backs to her.

Each member of the group fell silent and turned to face the newcomers. A shock of blond hair caught her eye. Her stomach flip-flopped when she unexpectedly recognized one of the men who turned around and looked at her, sporting a delighted smile. It was none other than Blond Russian Guy, Dmitri Brusilov. For a split second, she wondered if he was loyal to Benoit after all and was there to double-cross them. But when she thought about the lengths he had gone to on behalf of Stephen and Mary over the years—how he had worked against his boss, putting his own family in danger—she knew he was trustworthy. How he ended up at this little soiree, however, promised to be an interesting tale and one she hoped to hear.

"Everyone," Benoit started, "these are my American friends, Caryn Mitchell, Sarah Irving and Charles Charles. They will be joining us tonight." Indicating each as he spoke, Benoit began the introductions of the rest of the group with the young man Sarah knew to be Benoit's computer expert and the brunette from La Rascasse. "Gilles Delacroix and his escort Amélie Simon, Dmitri Brusilov, Niall Doogan, Paolo Fusco, Hamid Nazari and Pavel Zuyev. Of course, you met Luc and Roland last night." Following the introductions, there was a round of hand shaking and greetings.

Sarah noticed the two very different reactions she received when she shook the two Russian men's hands. Dmitri's eyes twinkled and his handshake was firm. Zuyev's hand, however, was clammy and limp and his eyes were filled with wariness and fear. Examining his face, she didn't see any indication that he bore any scars from their previous meeting. The thin red marks she'd made with her knife on his cheeks had disappeared. A sense of satisfaction filled her when she spotted the tiny droplets of perspiration forming on the oligarch's forehead and upper lip. She would never tire of watching one of the dregs of society squirm.

Zuyev's nervous response to seeing her made it clear that he was more worried about Sarah and Dmitri than they were of him. If he had any thoughts of exposing Sarah as a woman who had an unusually intense interest in Benoit, Dmitri's presence certainly curbed that impulse. There was no way he could tell Benoit about Sarah without revealing his own duplicity. Still, she would keep a close eye on the Russian.

There were a couple of other people in the room whom Benoit did not introduce: the dealer who sat motionless at the center of one side of the otherwise empty oval table and an employee of the casino standing discreetly off in the shadows. Once prompted by Benoit, everyone settled around the table. The Frenchman sat with the dealer to his left and Carina on his right. On the other side of Carina sat Doogan. Clockwise around the rest of the table were Zuyev, Chuck, Gilles, Dmitri, Nazari, and finally Fusco on the left side of the dealer. Sarah and Amélie sat on tall bar stools to watch the action from behind their dates. Roland took up his position and stood unobtrusively behind his boss while Beaufort and André located themselves in two corners of the room.

Benoit nodded to the casino man who then murmured into his cuff. As if by magic, a long line of staffers carrying trays filled with different colored poker chips filed in and set one down in front of each player. Accompanying them was the man Sarah recognized as the head of casino security, Gaston Paquin.

Chuck followed the lead of the other players, took the chips from his tray and stacked them on the table in front of him. When the young woman who brought him his chips stepped back, he twisted around in his chair and with an impressed look on his face, held up something for Sarah to see. It was a chip. However, rather than it being like the other round and flat ones in tall stacks in front of him, it was the size and shape of a credit card, only thicker. On the front of it "20,000" was emblazoned in gold. When his eyes went so wide his brown irises were surrounded by white, she was concerned the huge amount of money involved in this mission was beginning to freak out him out a little.

With a wink and a cheeky smile, Sarah said, "Save that one. You can buy me something pretty."

The anxiety cleared from Chuck's face and a grin exploded.

From his seat across the table from Chuck, Benoit laughed. "I would listen to the lovely lady if I were you, Chuck. Believe me, there are many men who would leap at the chance to 'buy something pretty' for the fetching Mademoiselle Irving."

He returned his wife's wink and then spun forward to face the table again. Quiet laughter rippled through the room when he mutely made a show of tucking the twenty thousand euro chip in his jacket pocket for safekeeping and then patted the outside of it with his hand.

Those who had carried the chips to each player paraded out of the room. Almost immediately, two men, as large and intimidating as the two casino security guards posted outside the door, entered the room. Like huge, imposing statues, the sentries stood stoically in the two corners of the room not occupied by André and Beaufort. While none of the men's weapons were visible, Sarah had no doubt that each was heavily armed.

"I apologize to each one of you for the inconvenience of having to be searched before you entered the room," Paquin said, addressing the entire group. "With the significant amount of euros present here tonight, it is imperative the casino take the necessary precautions to secure both the funds and players."

Sarah didn't know if anyone else believed that cock and bull story of Paquin's, but she sure didn't. There was no reason to be concerned about someone coming in and stealing all the chips in the room. They were worthless until cashed out by the casino's bank. Hadn't they seen _Ocean's Eleven_? She stifled a smile at the movie connection she'd just made and snuck a peek at the back of Chuck's head. Her nerd had changed her forever.

While the dealer informed the players at the table what the antes and blinds were set at, Sarah parsed Paquin's words in her mind. The only player whose security they were concerned about was Benoit. Her gaze shifted from Chuck to a second door in the back corner of the room to her right. If there was any indication that the authorities had gotten wind that Benoit was in the casino and were moving in to apprehend him, the combined security team would have him out that back door so fast, it would make members of the Secret Service gawk in awe. Hopefully, they wouldn't use that door when Carina's Liquid Nausea kicked in. Otherwise, they'd have to follow them and make it up as they went along.

Also with regard to Benoit's safety, she was sure searching everyone before they entered the room had nothing to do with the number of chips there and everything to do with controlling who would and would not be armed. She wondered if Benoit had allowed any of his other guests to bring their weapons into the room. Putting herself in his place, she wouldn't. A man like Benoit, who had been in the "bad guy" game a long time, had to know he couldn't and shouldn't trust anyone other than his closest confidants. Considering the present company, Sarah guessed the only people Benoit truly trusted were Luc Beaufort, his head of security, André the bodyguard, Roland LaMarche, his right-hand man, and Gaston Paquin, the head of casino security.

She knew for a fact Dmitri wasn't loyal to him and that Zuyev, while not flat out hostile toward Benoit, wasn't exactly ready to take a bullet for him either. She didn't know anything about the three other men in the game, Doogan, Fusco and Nazari, and assumed they were Benoit's associates in similar fashion to Zuyev. Perhaps Benoit had nefarious plans for any one or all of those three men and the poker game was a way to gather them in one place to allow him to obtain retribution for some reason or another. While it sounded like something from _The Godfather_, she wouldn't put it past Benoit. But then again, she could be completely wrong and the three were fiercely loyal to Benoit and their invitations to the evening's festivities were his way of showing them his appreciation. She really had no idea. She'd have to watch, listen and learn.

"Monsieur Benoit, I will be at my post in the security office," Paquin said. "I am at your service."

"Thank you, Gaston. I'm sure there will be no issues, but it is a comfort knowing you are there."

Paquin smiled and replied in a smooth, confident voice, "Always." Then he exited the room.

The dealer was in the process of shuffling the deck of cards when a waitress slipped into the room and starting with Benoit, went around the table discreetly taking the players' drink orders. At the same time, chips clattered against each other as the blinds and antes were tossed into the center of the table.

The tension in the room seemed to ratchet up as the dealer quickly and efficiently passed out two cards to each player. Whether it was nerves, as she knew would be the case for Chuck, or not wanting to give away any tells on the first hand, the minute the cards were in front of them, the players grew serious. Gone was the laughter and friendly banter that had filled the room only moments before. Glancing at the dispassionate expressions worn by each player, Sarah was immediately reminded of the chorus Lizzie, Lisa and Fred sang earlier in the day. No one wanted their opponents to read their poker faces.

As the wagering began, the waitress approached Sarah and murmured, "Would you like something to drink, mademoiselle?"

Her stomach dropped at the innocent question. A little while before she, Chuck and Carina left for the casino, her body informed her that if she drank alcohol that evening, she wouldn't be hurting anything. She was surprised at the timing—it was a little earlier than expected—but the fact that it had come at all shouldn't have. After all, she and Chuck had only just begun trying to conceive. And yet it did surprise her. It also surprised her at how saddened she was by it. Even now, tears stung at the back of her eyes as she thought about it. And the fact that she had to order a non-alcoholic drink for no other reason than because her cover required it seemed to mock her. Sarah Bartowski swallowed at the lump in her throat, hid her renewed disappointment and stuffed the niggling resentment. Sarah Irving regained control and answered with a clear yet quiet voice, "I'll have a sparkling water, please."

"_Oui_, mademoiselle." Now having obtained everyone's drink requests, the waitress hurried across the room and quietly stole through the door.

Shaking off her sudden bout of melancholy, Sarah returned her attention to the first hand at the table and checked on her husband first. Chuck was sitting back, relaxed in his chair, having folded his cards. At least he hadn't gone out in the first hand like he worried could happen. Apparently others were feeling the same opening hand jitters Chuck was since Benoit won the hand by triggering a rash of folds after he made a fairly large bet. It also might have been a case of the players deciding it was prudent to ensure Benoit won the first hand. Going head-to-head over a large pot with the big boss right off the bat was surely impolitic. Judging by the smiles on everyone's faces, their decisions had clearly been the right ones.

When her gaze landed on Pavel Zuyev's face, she had to amend her thoughts. He didn't look relieved at all. To the contrary, his countenance was tight and pinched and the blood drained from his face when he noticed Sarah looking at him. It was clear he was supremely uncomfortable and nervous. Maybe he'd settle down when the waitress returned with the drinks. The man looked like he could really use some liquid courage.

Sarah kept her face neutral when Benoit, happily stacking his winnings in front of him, apparently observed Zuyev's ashen features. "Pavel, are you not well? You look as if you have seen a ghost."

Sarah gritted her teeth as Zuyev, still pale, looked back at Benoit. If he couldn't get his act together and blundered into tipping Benoit off that she and the Russian had a "past" the whole mission would be blown before it even got going. Knowing everything could go sideways in an instant, her mind spun as she was already beginning to formulate a plausible explanation for Zuyev recognizing her.

She worked to appear as nothing more than a casual observer as she watched the Russian put on a brave face. With a smile, albeit a bit wobbly, he croaked, "I am fine, Henri. Thank you. The first hand has made me realize how much I have neglected my poker skills."

At Benoit's affable laughter, the color began to return to Zuyev's face. "Do not worry, my friend," the Frenchman said with a boom. "I am sure it will come back to you as we play. If not, the rest of us will be all the richer."

Those at the table laughed and hooted their approval of Benoit's sentiment while Sarah slowly released her held breath. One minefield successfully navigated, an unknown number left to go.

Now that the first hand was under their belts, the tension in the room dissipated and the more friendly, jovial atmosphere that had been present before the game began returned. A second hand was dealt. Doogan, whose accent confirmed he was Irish, Gilles, Benoit's computer guy and Chuck stayed in the hand until the fourth community card, also known as the turn card, was revealed. The first to act, Chuck absently played with a short stack of chips while he considered his wager. After a moment's thought, he tapped his fingers on the table twice and said, "Check."

The action moved to Doogan, who placed a five thousand euro bet. Gilles immediately folded, leaving it up to Chuck to either quit out of the hand as well, put five thousand into the pot to stay in it or raise the stakes by wagering beyond that.

While Chuck was once again pondering his next move, the waitress returned with a tray full of drinks. She set Benoit's martini on the short table that stood between him and Carina. It was a surprise to no one when he made sure the redhead sat next to him. Even so, Sarah considered it a gift from above. Slipping the drug into Benoit's glass would still take courage, timing and finesse, but sitting right next to the man would make it that much easier.

Next to the martini glass went Carina's champagne. The young woman moved around the table depositing drinks until her tray was empty. She slipped out the door again just as Chuck sat up straight and deliberately counted out several stacks of chips. Pushing the stacks with both hands toward the pile of chips at the center of the table, he declared, "I'll see your five thousand and raise you twenty-five thousand."

Doogan scowled, grumbled a colorful epithet and dragged his hand across his face. With one community card yet to be revealed, the Irishman had to figure out if Chuck already had a decent hand or was bluffing and using a large bet to bully him out of the hand. But he apparently wasn't ready to give up on his cards yet. He counted out the appropriate amount of chips and slid them across the green felt. "Call."

The waitress returned to deliver the rest of the drinks just as the dealer laid the final card of the hand face up on the table. Whether or not the card helped or hurt either player was impossible to tell by their reactions. Studying the upturned cards, Sarah ran through in her mind the potential winning hands. Given that there were no pairs on the board, three of a kind was the best they could do if they had a "pocket pair." A straight was in the mix and with three spades showing, a flush was as well.

Chuck once again fingered a stack of chips as he deliberated what to do. Sarah's gaze swept over the faces of those around the table. There was little movement other than eyes darting back and forth between Chuck's and Doogan's faces. Even when not in a hand, an opponent could try to pick up tells of other players.

Sarah barely breathed as she waited for Chuck to act. It was excruciating not knowing what his two hole cards were. She had to keep reminding herself that if he won or lost, it wouldn't affect the overall outcome of the mission. It didn't help her stress level, though. Simply put, she wanted him to win the hand.

"Five thousand," Chuck said, abruptly breaking the spell of silence that had hung over the room.

She wondered if his small wager might be an attempt to entice Doogan into calling his bet. On the other hand, if he was hoping to better his hand with the final river card and missed, he might be taking a stab at the pot without blowing a ton of money.

The river card must have been kind to Doogan. Apparently sensing weakness from Chuck, he didn't hesitate to act. "Call and raise thirty thousand."

Chuck's head snapped back in surprise. He blew out a slow breath and rubbed his fingers back and forth over his chin. After glancing down at his cards again, he shrugged. "You only live once. Call."

Doogan flipped his cards over and stood up so quickly his chair nearly fell over backward. "Queen high straight." His eyes shone in triumph.

Sarah's jackhammering heart nearly stopped when she heard her husband suck air through his clenched teeth. That was not the sound of someone with a winning hand. "Sorry, Niall," he started. "You better jump out of the shower, 'cause I gotta flush." He turned his cards over to reveal the ace and king of spades.

The room erupted with laughter at his quip and shouts of amazement at his cards. Benoit seemed particularly pleased with Chuck's sense of humor and poker skill. "What a delight you are, Chuck. I can see we are in for a very exciting and entertaining evening."

_You have no idea_, Sarah thought as she nearly went limp in relief. She slid off the high bar stool, placed her hands on his shoulders, bent forward and kissed his cheek. "Impressive," she murmured.

"Something a guy _always_ likes to hear," Chuck responded with a twinkle in his eye.

She kissed his cheek again and then returned to her perch as her husband began to stack the large pile of chips that had been raked in front of him by the dealer.

"Will a kiss on the cheek from the beautiful Signorina Irving be awarded as a prize to the winner of each hand?" Paulo Fusco asked. His features were angular and handsome and his smile was crooked and flirty. However, his dark eyes were sharp and cold, belying the warmth he was trying to convey with his smile.

"I'm afraid not, Signor Fusco," Sarah demurred. His wavy brown hair sprinkled with gray throughout was combed straight back. The gray concentrated at his temples and the deep lines on his brow led Sarah to guess his age to be in the mid-fifties.

The Italian shrugged a shoulder. "You cannot blame a man for trying." A buzz of assent hummed through the room and Fusco received a supportive pat on the back from the chuckling Hamid Nazari sitting next to him. Sarah wasn't one hundred percent sure of Nazari's nationality, but his name clued her that he was most likely either Iranian or Afghan. Given the fact that Carina was inserted into Benoit's life in the first place because he was a major supplier of heroin throughout Europe, Sarah was pretty confident that Mr. Nazari, also a man in his mid-fifties, was Benoit's Afghan heroin connection. If she was right, he was a big fish the DEA would love to land. Benoit was still top priority, though, so it remained to be seen if Nazari would be taken into custody, too. Even if he wasn't this time, at least they had a name. That was still a big deal.

The dealer shuffled the cards preparing to deal out another hand when Dmitri caught Sarah's eye, looked away, and then suddenly stood. "I hope you will forgive me for interrupting for a moment," he said, ducking his head and wearing a slightly embarrassed smile. "I would like to take this opportunity to thank Monsieur Benoit for inviting me, his humble employee, to join him in tonight's game. Being allowed to be here and watch would have been an enormous honor. Instead, he went far beyond and generously covered the buy-in on my behalf, allowing me to play." Dmitri picked up his glass of vodka and held it aloft. "Words cannot express how proud I am to be here tonight, sir. I can only say, '_Za vashe zdorov'ye!'_ To your health!"

Each of them picked up their glass, held it high and regarded Benoit and said in unison, "To your health!" After they each sipped their drink, Dmitri sat back down.

Benoit beamed. "Thank you, Dmitri. It is I who is pleased and proud to have you here. You deserve all the honor for being a brave, loyal and trustworthy employee."

"Spill, Henri," Carina said. "What did your employee of the month do to earn a seat at the Round Table?"

Benoit smiled first at Carina and then at the blond Russian. "Dmitri has been an integral member of my team in Moscow for many years. When he recently heard a rumor that some important and sensitive financial information of mine had been stolen, he diligently followed the lead." The genial manner in which Benoit had comported himself up until that moment suddenly vanished. His eyes turned hard and his countenance grew dark and still. "He found that one of my business competitors committed an act of corporate espionage."

Even thought the words were spoken in a quiet, measured fashion, a chill raced up Sarah's spine. In his voice, she heard a controlled yet deadly fury. The amiable, charming host was gone and Sarah now beheld the man who had compelled Mary and Stephen into forced servitude by threatening Chuck's and Ellie's lives. Intellectually, she had known all along Benoit was an evil, rotten man. Until that moment, however, he had always been so pleasant and affable in person it had been difficult envisioning him as the malevolent son of a bitch his history and actions evinced. Now that the terrible, dangerous man so feared by so many was exposed, Sarah understood why Pavel Zuyev was terrified at the thought of Benoit discovering his bad behavior and why Stephen and Mary had capitulated to him for so many years to keep their children safe. He was not a man to be crossed. Period. Having now glimpsed an angry, wrathful, yet frighteningly calm and composed Benoit, her respect for Dmitri grew exponentially as well. The guy had nerves of steel and even if he didn't know what was planned for the evening, if things went pear-shaped, it was a huge relief to realize they had another man on their team.

Malice seemed to radiate from Benoit as he continued the story. "Dmitri was able to obtain part of the stolen documentation from the thieving jackal. Not knowing whether or not someone within my own organization had assisted in this treachery, he faced the potential wrath of his superiors and insisted on speaking only with me." As he spoke of Dmitri's exploits, the anger in Benoit's carriage dissipated and a smile returned to his face. "I knew immediately that his dedication, loyalty and discretion needed to be rewarded. Since his labors on my behalf brought him to France, joining us tonight was the perfect opportunity to thank him." With martini glass in hand, Benoit stood and said with vigor, "To Dmitri!"

Everyone jumped to their feet and saluted the Russian. "Dmitri!"

Over the rim of her glass, Sarah watched Benoit take a sip of his drink. It was too bad Carina hadn't had a chance to spike it yet. If she had, everything would be set in motion in the next five minutes or so. Still, the evening had only begun and they had plenty of time. She, and the entire team, would have to be patient.

Once the toasts came to an end and everyone settled into his or her seat, the dealer distributed the cards around the table beginning another hand of poker.

"Did you contact the authorities to let them know who did this terrible thing to you?" Doogan asked.

It was impossible to miss the ominous tone in Benoit's voice when he responded. "The offending parties will be dealt with." Sarah's stomach flipped. If he knew the truth, she'd be the one in his crosshairs. Having seen flashes of Benoit's sociopathic tendencies in person, she realized it was definitely not a desirable place to be.

It came as a great relief to her when Carina changed the subject. Addressing Benoit she said, "So with Dmitri playing with us tonight, does he get to keep whatever's left of the half million buy-in after antes and blinds? 'Cause if that's the case, I'm not sure I'd play a hand unless I started with pocket aces. I'd tuck my hands under my magnificently tight ass and sit it out." The wink and smile Carina bestowed on Dmitri made him blush. "You know, Dmitri, if you want to sit out the game, you're welcome to come tuck _your_ hands under _my_ magnificently tight ass."

Carina shot Sarah a gleeful smile when her comment caused an eruption of gasps and coughs. Sarah could only smile in return and shake her head. From the corner of her eye, though, she saw Amélie, Gilles date, bristle. Up to that point, Sarah had paid little attention to the young woman. Now, however, the frown she sported made it clear she didn't approve of Carina's behavior, which was, admittedly, provocative. If the redhead noticed, it could spell trouble for the woman given that one of Carina's favorite pastimes in life was riling people. And unfortunately for Amélie, her reaction to Carina's flirting was like dumping chum in water teeming with sharks.

Meanwhile, poor Dmitri's whole head blazed the color of a ripe tomato. "Thank you for the offer, Ms. Mitchell, but I am afraid my wife would not approve."

"Aw, that's sweet, staying true to your wife," Carina responded with a coy smile of approval. "Now I like you even more now."

He smiled nervously and continued. "To answer your question, my benefactor will allow me to keep whatever winnings I accumulate above and beyond the buy-in amount."

"Aw, Henri," Carina cooed, resting a hand on his arm. "It was so sweet of you to do this for such a fine fellow," shooting a wink in Dmitri's direction.

"So much attention given to a mere employee," a scowling Zuyev grumbled under his breath.

Sarah couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Was Zuyev actually put out because Carina was flirting with Dmitri and not him? From the flash of aggravation she saw in Carina's eyes, Sarah knew her friend didn't appreciate the oligarch's childish response. If the guy didn't straighten up, he might just find out what it was like to have his spleen removed through his nostril by the perturbed redhead.

Those at the table who had overheard Zuyev's complaint suddenly busied themselves by straightening their chips or peeking at their hole cards again. Sarah's gaze shifted quickly to Benoit to see if he'd overheard Zuyev. There was no response from the big boss—he didn't even look Zuyev's way—so if he had heard it, it appeared he was going to let it slide. Instead, he heaved an amused sigh and said, "Caryn, how many times have I warned you about flirting with my employees?"

"Many, many times, Henri. I can't help it," she pouted. "You always hire such incredibly handsome men." Apparently, the DEA agent had noticed Amélie chafing at her flirtations before and decided to have some fun. "Including Gilles, over there. I remember you from my time in Paris. Do you remember me?" she asked with an arch smile.

"Of course. You are a very memorable woman," Gilles replied diplomatically, obviously not wanting to say too much with his date sitting right behind him. He hooked a finger over his stiff shirt collar and gave it a nervous tug.

Sarah could tell from the gleam in Carina's eye that she was having the time of her life. "You know, Gilles. I'll offer you the same deal I offered Dmitri. I'll sit out a hand with you any time you want."

It was as if everyone in the room held their collective breaths, waiting for Benoit's reaction to her over-the-top flirting. He chuckled, took a sip of his martini and said in a mild tone, "Caryn, you are like a cat playing with a captured mouse."

When Carina grinned at Benoit, leaned in and kissed his cheek, breaths were exhaled in relief. Sarah came to the conclusion that the Frenchman understood Carina's compulsion to stir up trouble and make people squirm since he didn't seem bothered by her antics in the least.

Amélie, however, did _not_ take Carina's antics in stride. She made her unhappiness with the perceived incursion into her "territory" known to those near her by uttering a few choice words about Carina under her breath. She described the redhead as a woman riddled with horrible infections transmitted to her by her activities as a member of "the world's oldest profession." Sarah had to bite the inside of her cheek keep from laughing. While Amélie's colorful vocabulary was both extensive and impressive, it wasn't the first time Sarah had heard her friend described in such terms. Knowing Carina as well as she did, she knew it probably wouldn't be the last.

Sarah began to worry they were headed for a real problem when Amélie's ongoing diatribe no longer was only under-the-breath grumbling. While she hadn't raised her voice, she wasn't trying to keep others from hearing what she had to say either. As a result everyone, including Carina, heard clearly every word she spoke. Surprisingly, Carina didn't even respond or even seem to notice Amélie for that matter. It was as if the woman was invisible to Carina as she picked up her purse, found a tin of mints, opened the lid and popped one of the small white candies into her mouth. Dropping her purse on the floor again, she sat back, crossed her arms and stared impassively at the center of the table.

"That is enough, young woman," Benoit warned, sitting forward in his chair. His words were clipped and his voice sharp as he stared at Amélie.

It was when Sarah saw Carina with the tin of mints did she realize what was actually going on. Carina had hidden the small vial containing the Liquid Nausea in the candy container in her purse. She didn't see it, but she was almost positive that the vial was now concealed in Carina's hand. Antagonizing Amélie into an angry response was a distraction. While everyone was fixated on the young woman, Carina would spike Benoit's martini.

Chastised by Benoit, Amélie clammed up but her eyes continued to shoot daggers toward her foe.

Sarah wasn't looking forward to what she had to do next, but to keep attention away from Carina she was going to have to poke the bear with a stick. Leaning toward Amélie, she said, "Geez, honey. Don't get your undies in a bundle over a little harmless flirting." Sarah eyed Gilles appreciatively and then looked back at Amélie. "A handsome guy like that, it's bound to happen all the time. You're—"

"Shut up, you blonde bitch." Amélie growled, her lips white and thin. "You American women—"

Chuck jumped to his feet so quickly his chair knocked over backward. Fists clenched and nostrils flaring, he spun around and faced the brunette. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. The brown eyes that were usually so warm and full of humor were now hard and flinty and his face was like stone. Sarah wasn't sure if she'd ever seen him so angry before.

"You will _not_ speak to my _any_ of guests in that way," Benoit said in a strong and pointed voice, now on his feet as well. "You will apologize to these lovely and gracious ladies or you will leave."

She calmly stared directly into Benoit's eyes and declared, "I will not apologize to those two sl—"

"Then you will leave. Now." Benoit's voice had that same kind of frightening, controlled ire he had exhibited before. Luc Beaufort and André the Bodyguard stalked across the room and took their places next to the young woman, ready to remove her from the premises.

Her demeanor changed like someone had flipped a switch. Resigned to her fate, her hostility evaporated. "Fine." She looked over to Gilles who stared back at her wide-eyed and slack jawed. "Come, Gilles. We must go."

Gilles shook his head slowly. "I am not leaving."

This time it was Amélie's turn to look shocked. She stood stock-still and stared at her date.

Gilles stood and pulled a wad of euros from his pocket. Fumbling, he peeled off a couple of notes and held them out to her. "Please, take a taxi back to your hotel and I will call you later."

She plucked the money from his hand and shoved the bills in her purse. "You do not need to bother calling. I will not answer." Without another word, she left, her security escorts flanking her on both sides as she strode out the door.

Once she was gone, Chuck took Sarah's hands in his and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Looking into his eyes, she saw them swirling with concern and confusion. "It's okay. Really." She held his gaze until she saw them clear with understanding.

Still standing, Gilles made a stiff bow toward Benoit and said, "I apologize, sir. I only met her couple of days ago and do not know her very well. Had I known this would have happened, I would not have asked your permission to allow her to attend."

Benoit relaxed and his smile returned. "Do not give it a second thought, Gilles. These things happen. Let us forget that unpleasantness and go back to our game, shall we?" He sat back down. Gilles, Chuck and Sarah returned to their seats as well.

"I'm sorry, too, Henri. I was just having fun. I didn't know I'd hit a nerve," Carina said.

Henri took her hand and kissed the back of it. "I know you were just having fun. Your unpredictability and sense of humor are some of the things I enjoy about you. As I told my friend, Gilles, do not give it a second thought."

Carina dipped her chin and smiled. "Okay, Henri. Thank you."

Sarah marveled at her friend's ability to provoke a response that allowed her to then become the victim. It was one of the many techniques in her arsenal as an agent. She was crazy like a fox.

Now that the brouhaha had concluded, at least for now, Sarah snuck a peek at Carina. Looking directly back at her, the redhead simply quirked one eyebrow. That tiny facial twitch was all Sarah needed to see. The Liquid Nausea had been deployed. Sarah mirrored the raised eyebrow advising Carina her message was received. Now all they had to do was wait for Benoit to drink it down and hope the rest went according to plan.

The hand interrupted by Carina and Amélie's dust up was completed with no distractions, very little interaction between players and no drama. As they played several more hands where the pots were relatively small, the tension in the room began to seep out like a slow leak in a balloon. Their task of sending Amélie away completed, André and Beaufort returned to their positions. It wasn't long before the atmosphere returned to being much more relaxed and friendly.

Fusco had just won a middle-sized pot when Benoit reached for his martini glass and raised it toward his mouth. Adrenaline flooded into her bloodstream as Sarah watched the rim of the glass touch his lips. Then, inexplicably, he held it there, frozen, the liquid millimeters from its ultimate destination. His brows pulled together and he returned the glass to the table. First he turned to the dealer and said, "Deal Mademoiselle Mitchell and me out of the next few hands."

"_Oui_, Monsieur Benoit."

Now spinning back the other way, he took Carina by the elbow helped her stand. Addressing the entire table, he said, "Excuse us. We will return in a few minutes."

"Sir?" Luc Beaufort asked, obviously wondering if he should accompany his boss.

Benoit's response was a tiny shake of the head. His hand still firmly gripping Carina's elbow, he led her toward the door. He opened it and the two stepped out of the room. Feeling completely helpless, there was nothing Sarah could do without potentially blowing up the entire mission. Stomach gurgling, it felt like she herself had downed some Liquid Nausea as she watched the two disappear from sight.


	49. Breathe

**A/N:** Well, we've reached and surpassed the 450,000 word mark and you're still with me. To you I say, "Thank you." I'm so very grateful to you for reading, and I give a special thank you to those of you who have taken the time to write a review for any given chapter. Those reviews really are so very much appreciated. I've said this before and it's still true: knowing there are readers out there still enjoying the story motivates me to keep going. This is especially true now that we're closing in on the conclusion of a _very_ long story and I feel like—as my good friend Frea once said—I've used all the words. All of them. Nevertheless, I will use old ones, perhaps find some new ones, and continue to tell this story.

**AgentInWaiting**, thank you thinking about, and pouring over, every one of these 450k words, including the ones in this chapter. You are a star.

By the way, I'm still posting pictures over at my blog, ChuckvsSOM dot blogspot dot com.

Finally, it was a personal goal of mine to use a Pink Floyd song as a chapter title. I did it.

**Chapter 49 – Breathe**

Sarah fought the rising panic she felt when she glanced at the empty chairs where Carina and Henri Benoit had been sitting only a moment before. The Liquid Nausea spiked martini had hovered in front of the lips of the man they had come to drug and then arrest before a strange, indecipherable look crossed his face. He'd then, without taking a sip, inexplicably set the glass back down and abruptly and unceremoniously escorted Carina out the door of the private poker room. Even with the distraction of Amélie, Gilles Delacroix's date she and Carina had angered, had Benoit detected Carina pouring the drug in his glass after all? Carina insisted that Liquid Nausea was odorless, but had she been wrong? Had Benoit somehow caught a whiff of it in his drink and realized Carina was up to something?

Sarah's mind raced as she tried to come up with a way to find out what had happened to Carina while the poker players around the table blithely continued their game as if nothing was amiss. In fact, most of the men smirked and shot each other knowing glances as if they all knew exactly what Benoit had in mind when he escorted Carina away. Perhaps they had the right idea and Sarah was overreacting. While she wasn't particularly thrilled at the notion that Benoit's motive was to engage in an impromptu groping session with Carina, it was better than her being exposed as a United States federal agent with the directive of apprehending him. Plus, she knew Carina had a lot of experience in dealing with guys like him and could take care of herself. Maybe if she and Benoit were alone, she could clock him with a ferocious left cross, knock him cold and have Casey and Vegas drag him away. One could hope.

Thinking of the two team members staked out in the main gaming area of the casino made her feel slightly more at ease. They certainly would have noticed Benoit leading Carina away and moved to follow and assist her if warranted.

Even with the knowledge that Casey and Vegas could intervene on Carina's behalf, Sarah still wished she knew what was happening. With her phone commandeered, she couldn't text. She could excuse herself by simply saying she needed to use the powder room and go looking for her friend, but she couldn't and wouldn't leave Chuck alone. She had no other option but to sit and wait for events to unfold, a defensive position she disliked being in intensely. Swallowing down some of her mineral water, she hoped the carbonated bubbles would help to settle the turbulence in her stomach.

Her attention was pulled away from thinking about Carina's status to the two men sitting directly in front of her when Gilles leaned close to Chuck and said in a low voice, "Monsieur Charles, I understand you made your fortune selling software you developed. You might remember from our introductions earlier that I am Monsieur Benoit's personal computer and technology consultant. I am familiar with many programs, platforms and languages. Perhaps I have used yours. Is it a video game? One that slingshots birds through the air, perhaps?"

Sarah heard the veiled superiority and snobbery in his tone. He gave off the distinct vibe that whatever Chuck told him he'd developed, Gilles would brush it aside as a trifle, as if Charles Charles was undeserving of his windfall. Anticipating Chuck's upcoming answer was almost enough to chase her nerves over Carina away.

"Maybe, if you use software that simulates the effects of experimental gene and stem cell therapies on people who suffer from autoimmune and inflammatory diseases." Chuck's reply, delivered perfectly in an easy, straightforward manner was a direct hit. It was so perfect, in fact, that had Fred been there, he would have shouted an exuberant, "Booyah!" and fist bumped his uncle. For her part, she wanted to jump off her stool, plop onto his lap and give him a big, wet kiss. Sadly, she had to stay put.

"Oh," Gilles breathed, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. It was clear he wasn't expecting a response so completely outside his areas of expertise, which was the entire point. They needed Charles Charles to have developed something in a subject no one present at the game would have any knowledge of. Scanning the blank, uncomprehending faces of the rest of the members at the table, Sarah could deem Chuck's choice of obscure topic as hitting the mark. "I must confess I do not know much about the subject."

"You've probably heard of some of the different diseases: multiple sclerosis, rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, type one diabetes, nasty ones like that," Chuck said. Sarah saw recognition emerge on most of the faces in the room.

Paulo Fusco announced his bet and slid his chips toward the pot. "I have a cousin who suffers from rheumatoid arthritis. It has been very difficult for her."

Chuck nodded. "I have a college friend whose younger sister has Crohn's—" His story was cut off when the door flew open. Carina and Benoit, both smiling, sauntered in, arm-in-arm.

"We're back!" Carina said in a singsong voice.

Benoit stood behind Carina's chair until she was seated and then returned to his own. To the dealer he said, "Deal us in the next hand."

"_Oui_, monsieur."

Sarah's shoulders—which had been tensed during the entirety of Carina's absence—loosened and dropped in relief when she saw her friend was okay. In fact, when she caught Carina's gaze, the glint she saw in the redhead's light blue eyes said to her that there was a story to be told. Sarah could hardly wait to hear it, but didn't want to interrupt the natural flow of the conversation. It would all be revealed, she just had to be patient. In the meantime, she hoped Benoit would down the rest of his drink so they could finish up the mission and go home.

The trio of Dmitri, Nazari and Fusco sitting at one end of the table continued playing the hand while Doogan, on the opposite side, said to Benoit with a not so subtle wink, "I hope everything is okay with you, Henri."

"Yes, everything is fine, Niall," he replied with a grin.

Carina hooked the hair covering her ears behind them to reveal a pair of long, dangling earrings she wasn't wearing when she left the room. With a gasp, Sarah leapt from her stool and headed for her friend like a heat seeking missile. Upon closer inspection, she saw that the earrings were made entirely of white gold. Hanging from the hoop in each lobe was a small, stylized panther head with a tiny jewel-encrusted collar around its neck. From the collar, several strands of long, linked sections of white gold hung down, the bottom ones nearly brushing her the tops of her shoulders. Some of the sections were lined with diamonds and some were left plain. "Wow, Caryn, those earrings are magnificent."

"They are. Henri just gave them to me as an apology for leaving me high and dry in Paris."

"Not only that, but once gone, not having the common courtesy to contact her to let her know I was on a business trip was inexcusable on my part. I hope my token of esteem from Cartier will 'smooth some ruffled feathers' as you Americans say. I think the panther captures Caryn's essence: bold and regal and dangerous."

Sarah smiled at Benoit and said, "I think you're right." He had no idea how right he was, especially about the dangerous part. While Caryn Mitchell might smile and accept the gift and the apology, Carina Miller would smile, accept the gift—not to allow him to assuage his guilt but because she liked shiny things—and then double him over with a driving punch to the gut for thinking he could buy her forgiveness. The mental picture made Sarah's smile grow ever wider.

Moving her face closer, Sarah squinted at the panther's head and asked, "Are the eyes emeralds?"

"Yup. The collars are studded with onyx and diamonds and the noses are onyx, too." Sarah heard the genuine excitement in Carina's voice and wondered if the DEA would find out about the earrings when the mission was over. She nearly snorted out loud, already knowing the answer.

"Beautiful and elegant, Caryn," Chuck said. "Just like you." The rest of the men in the room, including the two casino security guards smiled and murmured their agreement.

Sarah noticed that the smile Carina give Chuck was sincere. "Thank you, Chuck… and everyone," she said to the rest of the room before turning to their host. "And Henri, of course."

"You are welcome, my dear." He clapped his hands once and rubbed his palms together. "Now, let us return to poker."

As Sarah walked back to her seat, she couldn't help but think that this was rapidly becoming one of the most unusual, remarkable and unpredictable missions she'd ever been a part of. There were times when it was unbelievably tense and stressful and other times when she was actually enjoying herself. Overarching that mixture of feelings, however, was a sense of urgency to get the whole Benoit thing over with so she, Chuck, their kids and his parents could go home and get on with their lives. All the man needed to do was drink his martini and that would happen.

As the dealer passed out cards to all nine players, Benoit looked over to Chuck. "I am sorry, Chuck. Our return interrupted you. What were you saying?"

He shook his head and shrugged. "It's not important. I just was telling Gilles about my software."

"Yes, the gene and stem cell therapy simulations you developed for a biotech company. Very impressive."

"You know about it?" Chuck asked, genuine surprise filling his voice. That part of Charles Charles' backstory wasn't available on the Internet due to his quest for privacy. Benoit could have gleaned that information only if he contacted the biotech company—which really meant he contacted operatives at the CIA pretending to be employees of the company—directly.

"Yes," Benoit said, reaching around to the table where the martini sat. Sarah held her breath and then was disappointed to see his hand move past the glass to pick up a bottle of water instead. "I am intrigued by the work this company is doing. I am in the market to diversify my investment portfolio and would like to speak to you further in private about these exciting advances in biotechnology."

"Sure, I can do that," Chuck replied with a hint of uncertainty. Sarah was a little unsure what he meant, too. Did he mean for he and Chuck to confer right then? Because in truth, Chuck really only knew enough about the subject to bluff people who knew even less.

They didn't have to wait long for an answer. "Excellent!" Benoit said in a hearty boom. "We will speak later to set something up."

Chuck must have had the same concern about his true lack of understanding of the subject, too. "I'm happy to meet with you, Henri, but I have to warn you, I'm not a doctor or researcher. I'm just the software guy."

"I understand. You tell me what you know."

"Now _that_ I can do." Sarah watched her husband's shoulders drop and relax, confident that they would have Benoit under arrest before he would have to meet with the man again.

The wagering of the hand began in earnest while the young woman who had brought their drinks in earlier returned with an empty tray in her hand. As usual, she went to serve Benoit first.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, monsieur?"

Twisting in his seat, Benoit picked up the drug-laced martini glass and handed it to the server. "Please, take this away."

"I am sorry it does not please you, monsieur," she said, obviously noting that the glass was still half full. "Shall I bring you fresh one? Or perhaps you would prefer something else?"

"No, it was fine." His gaze dropped from the waitress's face to Carina's where it remained. "It is just that I do not want to drink too much alcohol with a medication I will be taking later."

Sarah nearly tumbled head first off her stool. _Oh, God. No! No, no, no, no, no!_ If he was talking about what she thought he was talking about, their entire plan just went down in a spectacular flame out just because Benoit planned on taking Viagra later. The very thought of him "taking something"—along with the realization that their chances of arresting him that night had plummeted to nearly zero—made her vision go blurry and the voices in the room grow distant and fuzzy. She gripped the edge of the stool to keep herself upright as the room lurched. Squeezing her eyes shut, she swallowed down the bile that forced itself up her throat and threatened to escape. Benoit had seen her "sick" once before. Fearing he might grow suspicious of her "dizzy spells," she couldn't let him see her that way again, even if it was for real this time. She had to get herself under control before he noticed. Clenching her jaw so hard her teeth ached, she slowly drew a lungful of air in through her nose and then quietly exhaled.

After a few more cleansing breaths, she took a risk and opened her eyes. Her vision was still a little wonky and she quickly came to realize it was from the tears that had seeped out and clung to her lashes. Some rapid blinking cleared it up. She was also grateful to find that the room no longer spun and had come to a full and complete stop. Releasing the viselike grip she had on the edge of her stool, she picked up her water and with a shaky hand, lifted it carefully to her lips. A few sips later, the water began to revive her. The bubbles acted like a cleanser, scouring away the residual bad taste in her mouth and prickly discomfort in her throat. It also worked to settle the stomach that acted like it had been a victim of Liquid Nausea.

Now, having regained her composure, she surveyed the scene. Chips clattered at the center of the table as the game continued. No one looked her way, nor did they seem to have noticed her momentary lapse. One glance into Carina's concerned eyes, however, told Sarah the redhead had come to the same conclusion about the problems they now faced and wasn't happy about it.

Sarah watched the waitress carry her tray—now loaded with a number of glasses, including Benoit's—around the table. Was there a way to salvage their plan? Could Carina say, "Hey, Henri. Go ahead and down that drink because you're not gonna be needing that little blue pill tonight"? She could, but not without embarrassing him in front of his cronies and landing her on her ass on the front steps of the casino. The more subtle, "Not tonight, dear, I have a headache," could work for Carina later, but did nothing to get Benoit to drink the martini now.

As Sarah watched the server carry the martini glass out of the room, she realized their plan was officially in ruins. From where she sat, she figured they had two options. One was to try taking Benoit in a surprise assault where they directly attacked his guards and allies with guns blazing and in a hail of bullets. She knew the likely outcome for her, her husband and her friend in that scenario was not good, to put it mildly, so she tossed the idea into the mental scrap heap.

The other option was to have Carina go the offensive with Benoit. Rather than "I have a headache" she could try, "Come on, Henri, take that pill right now and then let's find a dark corner of the casino." Once alone, she would tranq him. Unfortunately, that setup had the same basic problem that they'd faced when considering tranquilizing Henri in the men's room without the benefit of the Liquid Nausea—the large number of people inside the casino watching over Benoit, ensuring his safety. They would lose the advantage of the chaotic situation that would have come with an inexplicably ill Benoit.

That wasn't to say that under the right circumstances and with the right preparation and backup in place, a plan where Carina would get Benoit alone and tranq him while the rest of the team systematically took out and secured Benoit's bodyguards wouldn't work. In fact, Sarah had been involved in several assignments where the very same tactic had been used successfully. At present, however, they didn't have any of the things in place that made for a successful mission. Trying to do something like that on the fly and in a highly secure, public place with no comms was a recipe for disaster. As much as she wanted to finish the mission that night, she wasn't willing to risk lives. Just as Chuck had said to her on the phone the previous morning, if Benoit managed to slip away, they would deal with it and move on.

When her gaze fell on Carina again, Sarah noticed she was looking decidedly more relaxed as she leaned forward with her elbow on the table and chin resting on her palm. Nothing moved except her eyes, which darted from face to face. She then called and raised the previous bet and slid the appropriate number of her chips toward the center of the table. Once the action moved to the next player, Carina looked at Sarah, flicked her gaze toward Benoit and then stared back to Sarah, eyebrow raised in question.

Sarah crossed one leg over the other and looked down to straighten her skirt. Then, in one motion, she lifted her head, caught Carina's eye, shook her head a tiny bit and looked away. She dared not look Carina's direction for too long in case anyone noticed and accused her of helping Carina cheat, so she didn't see the other woman's reaction. Knowing Carina as well as she did, though, she could imagine it. The mischievous facial expression she wore most of the time would not change an iota. Only a flash of comprehension in her eyes would tell Sarah she'd caught her meaning. She was confident Carina would take her warning to heart and not try anything crazy or foolish. She was a trained DEA agent after all and certainly would realize they were outnumbered and at a serious tactical disadvantage. Plus, the redhead's strong sense of self-preservation would overrule any harebrained scheme that might pop into her head.

Completely deflated by their plan being blown to smithereens, Sarah focused on the poker game to distract herself from their miserable failure. She twisted her upper body one way and then the other, stretching out the muscles in her back. As she settled in against the stool's backrest, she knew she needed to get comfortable. It was going to be a long night.

~ O ~

Sarah was right. It was a long night, with Benoit staying true to his declaration and refusing all drinks. They played poker until the early morning hours and she nearly wept with happiness when the last hand was called. When all was said and done, there were a couple big winners, a couple big losers and the rest were in between.

If Sarah were to give an award for most spectacular crash and burn of the evening, she would have presented it to none other than her good friend Pavel Zuyev. In a head-to-head hand with Benoit, he'd gone all in. Certain that he'd won the hand, he had already begun to rake in the pile of chips after flipping over his cards to reveal a full house. Sarah had barely been able to hold back a snort when Benoit had chided him for being too confident. The Russian's eyes had nearly bugged out of his head when the Frenchman turned over his cards to win the hand with four of a kind. The range of colors Zuyev's face had turned was impressive. It had started out bright red and then, as it sunk in that he was also completely out of the game, a dangerous purple. How the man had not suffered an aneurysm, Sarah didn't know. When he had somehow survived the vein-bursting stage, he moved to the opposite end of the spectrum where all the blood drained from his face. Even his lips had turned white. His skin color finally settled on a greenish hue when he had become a spectator for the rest of the time.

Sarah stood next to her husband and watched him stack his chips into a tray, preparing them to be cashed out. She couldn't help but feel proud. He'd played admirably and only was down a little from the original buy-in amount. Leaning down, she draped an arm over his shoulders and put her lips right up to his ear. In a breathy whisper, she said, "Why do I have the feeling you would have come out ahead overall if you hadn't lost to Dmitri _every single_ heads up hand you played with him? That sure seems like a pretty big coincidence."

Never moving his head, he cut his eyes toward her and said in a low tone, "I don't know what you're talking about. He obviously could read my tells like a book."

"Uh-huh," she intoned. She kissed his cheek and wanted to add, "I love you," but couldn't take the risk. Instead, she stood and snuck a peek at Dmitri. Their Russian friend wore a pleased smile as he loaded up two separate trays. It was unclear to Sarah as to whether or not he knew what Chuck had done for him, but it didn't really matter. There was no amount of money they could give Dmitri that could repay him for what he had done for the Bartowski family and the incredible risks he had taken on their behalf. But if the money Dmitri won from Chuck made his and his family's life a little easier, that was all that mattered.

"Looks like your chip stack still is pretty healthy, Dmitri," Carina said. "Did you end up with a little to take home?"

"I did, Ms. Mitchell, thank you. I am very pleased that I won seventy-five thousand euros." There was obvious excitement in his voice. "And of course, I must thank Monsieur Benoit again for allowing me to be here and giving me the chance to win."

"Please, Dmitri, it is I who am thanking you," Benoit said. "And when your chips are cashed, you are to keep _all_ of the money, including the buy-in."

Dmitri's eyes rounded in surprise. "What?" He gaped at Benoit and then shook his head. "No, sir. It is too much. I cannot accept it. I will only take with me what I won tonight."

"I am your employer and you will do as I say," he replied sharply. One glance at the Frenchman's face told Sarah he wasn't kidding around. He obviously didn't like being told no, even when the refusal would benefit him. Just as quickly, his mood changed again and he said in a kinder voice, "Consider it a bonus for your many years of service to me, especially after the loss of our Moscow colleagues a few years back. I know how hard their deaths were on you."

The stack of chips in Chuck's hand seemed to explode, sending tokens flying in every direction. When everyone looked his way, Chuck stood, picked up one of the wayward chips from the table and waved it back and forth. "Slippery little buggers," he said with an embarrassed smile.

Hearing about his parents out of the blue like that understandably unnerved him. Sarah put her hand on his arm to calm him and could feel the tautness of his muscles even through his tuxedo jacket. "Chuck, it's okay. Let me help."

He gave her an appreciative smile. "Thanks."

While she and Chuck picked up the errant chips, from the corner of her eye she saw Benoit put a hand on Carina's back and steer her into a corner. "Caryn, come back to my yacht with me. Seeing you again has shown me what a fool I was for leaving you in Paris. Come away with me. Now. Tonight. Forever."

Benoit kept his voice low and Sarah had to focus her hearing to catch what he said. Even so, she heard a pleading urgency in his voice. She had expected him to try to get Carina back to his yacht for the night, but was _not_ prepared for the man asking her to go away with him. She gritted her teeth to keep the surprise off her face and tried to look busy by picking up Chuck's chips.

They hadn't discussed how to handle a scenario like this since they all had assumed Benoit would be under arrest by the end of the night. The thought of Carina having to go off to Benoit's yacht with him turned Sarah's stomach. It made her feel even sicker when she realized it appeared to be their only option to keep an eye on Benoit and get the exact location of his yacht since Carina—like all of them—wore one of Casey's trackers.

"I can't just drop everything and run off with you tonight."

"Why not?"

"I need to get my stuff. I've got clothes and jewelry back at the hotel I don't want to leave behind."

"You can. I will buy you new clothes and jewelry. I can buy you anything you want."

Carina shook her head. "I want my stuff."

"I will send some of my men with you. You can pack up your things and they will help you bring them all to my yacht."

"Henri, it's three in the morning. What's the big rush?"

"I do not want to lose you again."

"Who said you would? Besides, the only reason you lost me the last time was because _you_ left _me_. Remember?"

Sarah saw him flinch. Carina's sharp tone seemed to cut through him like a knife. The redhead was playing with fire, but Sarah trusted her friend's instincts. In the time Carina had spent with Benoit in Paris, she must have learned how far she could push him before he pushed back. And even though she didn't know what it was, Sarah was sure Carina had some kind of end game in mind. She _always_ had an end game in mind.

Carina moved closer to Benoit and put her hand on his chest. "Look, I promise to go with you if you promise not to sail off without me. Here's the deal. I'll go back to my hotel tonight and get some sleep. Then I'll get my things and check out of my hotel, but not before Sarah and I have our massages we're scheduled for later this morning. That should work out well for you, Henri. I think you'll like it when I'm well rested and… limber."

One of the most feared, dangerous and hunted men in the world could only make happy, gurgling noises in response. To use Carina's fishing metaphor from the restaurant the night before, Benoit had just swallowed the hook. He would agree to anything she asked. A tiny smile quirked on Sarah's lips. She had just witnessed another one of her friend's virtuoso performances.

Without waiting for an actual, coherent response from Benoit, Carina plowed ahead. She placed her finger on Benoit's chin. "I have a great idea," she purred. Turning to her cohorts, she waved them over. "Chuck, Sarah, come here."

If Carina was angling for what Sarah thought she was, it just _might_ give them another chance at Benoit. If that was the case, she was ready to play along. "What's up, Caryn? You about ready to go?" Sarah asked when she and her husband joined the other two.

"Henri has asked me to leave with him on his yacht tomorrow and I'm going to. Isn't that exciting?"

"Wow, that's wonderful," Sarah replied with the appropriate amount of surprise and excitement in her voice. She leaned in and kissed Carina's cheek.

Following his wife's lead, Chuck shook the Frenchman's hand. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Benoit replied with a massive grin.

"Henri, don't you think it's a fabulous idea if Sarah and Chuck come with me when I join you later? It seems only fair that they get to hang out on your yacht for the afternoon since I'll be ditching Sarah for the rest of our holiday."

Benoit raised an eyebrow and cut his eyes toward Chuck. "I doubt you will be leaving Sarah alone for the rest of her stay."

"Actually, Chuck's leaving Monaco on Monday," Sarah said, "so I will be alone for the rest of my time here."

"All the more reason for Sarah and me to spend my last day here together," Carina said. "You and Chuck can talk investments. I'm sure Sarah would have some excellent insights regarding that subject, too."

When Benoit hesitated, she sidled closer to him, unbuttoned his jacket, snaked an arm under it and pressed her body against his. "Please? After tomorrow, you'll have me all to yourself." She put her lips up to his ear. "I promise." Carina had already set the hook. Now she was reeling him in.

Benoit gulped and blinked several times. "I would be happy to have your friends come along," he croaked. Sarah took a deep breath to keep from chuckling. The way Carina had Benoit's engine revving, the man wouldn't need the aid of a little blue pill after all.

"Thank you, Henri," Carina purred in his ear. "You won't regret it." He jolted when she nipped his earlobe, landing him in her boat. The only thing left was to put him on the string. With a little luck and some planning, that would occur on his very own yacht.

Benoit somehow fought off the "Carina Miller Effect" long enough to say, "Roland and one of my crew will be waiting for you at Port Hercule with one of the yacht's tenders at two o'clock. They will ferry you to where my yacht is anchored. Will that give you enough time?"

"Sounds perfect to me." Shooting a look at Chuck and Sarah, she asked, "Does that work for you?"

Sarah looked at Chuck who shrugged and nodded. "I'm good to go," he said.

"That's what Sarah tells me, Chuck," Carina said with a wicked smile.

"Caryn!" Sarah scolded. The heat that rose in her cheeks was real.

With a laugh, Chuck said, "Good luck with your handful, Henri."

"Do not worry, my friend. I know Caryn is a challenging woman." He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. "I must say farewell to the rest of my friends before they leave. I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow."

The trio returned his goodbyes and thanked him once again for inviting them to the game. A few minutes later, their accounts had been settled with the casino, Carina had retrieved her pistol from casino security and they were out in the still, heavy-with-moisture early morning air. A jaw-cracking yawn filled Sarah's lungs with fresh air, helping to revive her a little. Even so, she was ready for sleep.

When they reached their cars, Carina hopped into the Ferrari and took off while Sarah handed Chuck the keys to the Porsche and claimed the passenger seat. He had just pulled out from their parking space when Sarah said, "I'm sorry things didn't go the way we planned, Chuck. You must be crushed."

He shrugged, glanced over at her and then returned his eyes to the road ahead. "I learned a long time ago that things don't always go the way you want them to. Did Carina even get the Liquid Nausea into his drink?"

"Mm-hmm. She put it in his martini during the whole thing with Gilles' date, Amélie."

His eyebrows rose and he nodded. "That explains why I never noticed. I was a little distracted."

"Yes and that was the whole point. Your added distraction was perfect, actually, even if you didn't know you were helping." With a small smile, she said, "You were very sweet to come to my defense."

He looked a little sheepish when he said, "I know you don't need me to defend you. You're the kickass, ninja spy, not me. But you _are_ my wife and when she got under my skin, I just reacted."

"Really, honey, it's okay. I would have done the same thing if she had been saying unpleasant things about you."

Chuckling, he said, "Something she'd regret doing once she woke up."

"You know me well, Mr. Bartowski," she said cutting her eyes toward him. He was right. She would have decked the woman. "Anyway, Benoit sent his Liquid Nausea spiked drink away and that was the end of that."

"Yeah, why'd he do that?"

"Um, I'm pretty sure he didn't want it to interfere with him taking his Viagra."

The Porsche swerved a little when he jerked. "Oh!" When understanding sank in, he made a face and groaned, "Oh. Ew."

She sighed and said, "I'm sorry."

He shrugged again. "Don't worry about it. It's not your fault. You can't possibly account for every single thing that _might_ happen. We're all still alive and Benoit's not on to us, so it's not a complete loss."

"That's true."

He gave her a confident smile. "You'll figure something out. You always do." With that, he turned on the Porsche's radio and after tapping the screen a few times, found a classic rock station playing music that would best be described as "dreamy" and "atmospheric." She didn't recognize the song, but enjoyed its slow, soothing tempo. It delighted her when Chuck's mellifluous voice joined in with the lead singer. "Breathe, breathe in the air. Don't be afraid to care. Leave but don't leave me. Look around and choose your own ground." When his voice washed over her, she melted into her seat until they reached the hotel parking lot.

At that hour, there were no valets, so Chuck parked the Porsche next to the Ferrari in the lot. He switched off the engine and considered her. "You're looking pretty mellow. Glad to see you enjoying the full Pink Floyd experience. You're even doing it drug free."

Rousing herself from her music induced stupor, she stretched and squinted up at him. "Hmm?"

He huffed a half-laugh and replied, "Never mind, sleepyhead."

Carina had waited for them to arrive and exited her car just as Chuck opened Sarah's door.

"You let Chuck drive the rental Porsche? This _is_ serious," Carina said with a smirk as she came around to the passenger side of the Porsche.

"I'm so tired I can barely see straight," Sarah said as she stood from the car. "I'm sure the rental car company will forgive me this one time."

"Speaking of forgiveness, I'm not sure there's going to be any coming from Casey any time soon," Chuck said. He closed the door of the Porsche quietly and looked around. "Are we okay to talk out here?"

"Mm-hmm. The security cameras won't have audio," his wife answered. "We should keep our voices low, though, just in case."

"Gotcha. Anyway, did you see the glare Casey gave us when we walked through the casino? The flames shooting from his eyes could have melted the ice planet Hoth."

"Oh my God, Chuckie," Carina groaned. "You're such a nerd."

"My nerd," Sarah said with a sigh. Now out of the car and bereft of the warm air coming through the vents, the night air sent a chill through her. When she rubbed her hands over her arms, Chuck took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "And he's right. Casey looked like he was about to blow like a volcano. Hopefully, he'll calm down a little once we tell him what went wrong."

"And that we still have a chance to finish the mission, thanks to me." Carina bowed her head with a flourishing hand sweep to the side.

"Are we sure Benoit won't take off during the night?" Chuck asked. "Maybe once he gets back on his yacht he'll decide it's too dangerous to stick around."

The redhead stared impassively at him from under hooded eyelids. "Seriously, Chuckie? Did you _not_ see him? Trust me. He won't leave without me."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself."

"Aw, Chuckie. You're so blindly in love with the blonde you can't appreciate the wonder that is me."

Chuck looked to his wife for help.

"I hate to admit it, honey, but she's right," Sarah said. "He won't leave without her.

Carina's eyes shone in victory. "See? Your wife sees it even if you don't." After Chuck's ambivalent shrug, Carina continued. "When the Liquid Nausea plan crapped out…" A sly smile grew when the other two groaned, "and we were stuck there until the end, I figured Henri might try to get me to go back to his yacht with him, especially after announcing to the world the reason he wasn't drinking any more alcohol." She paused to give in to a full body shudder while Sarah shivered in sympathy and pulled Chuck's jacket tighter around her. "Anyway, whether he asked me to go with him just for the night or leave for good, I knew I could get him to invite all three of us to his yacht."

"You did do that, but I'm not happy that we lost track of him again," Sarah said. "I agree in principle that he wouldn't take off without you, but what if something else happens, like he hears that one of his enemies found out where he is and he has to take off? He left you in Paris without warning, you know."

"Thanks for the reminder." Sarah heard the snap in her friend's voice and knew she'd touched a nerve. "And give me more credit, Walker. On the off chance he does decide to rabbit, I took my tracker off the last time I was in the ladies' room and palmed it. You know when all three of us were talking after the game and I got all handsy with him and slipped my arm under his jacket? I stuck the tracker between one of the pleats in his cummerbund. He'll never notice it."

Sarah chuckled and shook her head. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Yeah, well, don't let it happen again."

"So what happens now?" Chuck asked.

"I don't know about you and the little missus, Chuckie, but I'm going to bed and catch a few hours of sleep." To Sarah, she said, "And then I'm going to get a massage. You want one, too?"

The idea of a massage nearly made her burst into joyous song. "Yes, please," she replied without hesitation.

"I'll set it up and text you." Carina started toward the hotel entrance. Over her shoulder, she said, "You two kids don't stay out here much longer. We have a big day ahead."

"Yes, Mom," Sarah sighed.

Carina wiggled her fingers in a wave and then sauntered away.

Sarah moved to stand directly in front of Chuck and looked up into his face. There she saw unadulterated exhaustion. "I guess we should go to sleep, too." She hated the fact that it meant they would have to sleep in separate beds. Again. She never slept as well when he wasn't next to her. Plus, his droopy eyelids were completely adorable and the untied bowtie that hung loose around his neck was completely sexy. All she wanted to do was take him to bed, snuggle in next to him and sleep for a week.

He laced his fingers together at the small of her back and pulled her to him. "I thought we'd have Benoit in custody by now and you and I would be sleeping in the same bed tonight." He was clearly having similar thoughts as she. She could hear the disappointment in his voice. "I miss opening my eyes in the morning and having a mass of blonde hair be the first thing I see."

"I miss waking up with your arm draped over me."

He gave her a crooked smile and wiggled an eyebrow. "And I miss the special way you wake me up sometimes."

"Mmm. Me, too," she said, a tiny smile playing on her lips. She reached up and brushed her fingers through the hair at his temple. "Hopefully tonight will be the last night we'll have to be apart. And since it's almost sunrise, we sort of spent the night together anyway."

Narrowing his eyes, he cocked his head to one side. "I'll give you that one on a technicality." Then he surprised her by tilting her head up with a finger and giving her slow, sensual kiss that made her legs go wobbly.

"I'm suddenly not all that sleepy anymore," she whispered before she pressed her lips to his again. In that moment, the rest of the world dropped away. Benoit, missions, poker, yachts, the CIA, Monte Carlo, it all became a hazy blur of insignificance when he kissed her like that. Then, when she felt him reluctantly pull back, it all came rushing back, leaving her with a palpable ache and a racing heart.

"Come on." He turned them both toward the hotel, put an arm around her shoulders and started them toward the front doors. "Carina's right. We need to get some sleep. We have another big day ahead of us."

She dropped her head on his shoulder as they ambled along. "Yes, we do. And Lizzie's not going to be very happy with me for keeping you out so late again. It's a good thing our next date is during the day. I'm not sure she'd let us go out three nights in a row."

"She is pretty strict, isn't she," Chuck replied with a quiet chuckle. Tears pricked in Sarah's eyes when she heard the wistfulness in his voice as he added, "She's her mother's daughter."

They strolled the rest of the way in silence and when they eventually reached her door, it was all she could do not to ask him to stay even if all they did was literally sleep together. She wanted it so badly, but she held back. It was especially difficult since even Henri Benoit knew that Charles Charles and Sarah Irving were now romantically involved. It would come as no surprise to anyone if they were seen slipping into her room to spend the rest of night together. It probably wouldn't affect the mission at all. But what if it did somehow in some way she couldn't know? Like Chuck had said earlier, she couldn't account for every outcome. They were so close to the end now, she could feel it in her bones. She wouldn't do anything to mess it up, particularly after being so careful up to that point. "Chuck, I—"

He obviously sensed her inner struggle and his response was exactly what she needed. His smile was warm and understanding when he said, "I know." He touched his finger to the tip of her nose and then pecked her lips with a quick kiss. "Later."

She heaved a sigh and nodded. "Later." Feeling her willpower already beginning to weaken, she turned, unlocked the door and stepped into her room. She slipped off his jacket and handed it back. "Good night."

He took the proffered jacket and folded it over his arm. "Good night," he said, then turned and started down the hall.

She swung the door shut, closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cool wood. It was then that she made a silent promise to herself. This was the last night she would be separated from her husband and family because of Henri Benoit. She knew in her heart it was a promise she was going to keep.


	50. Come Sail Away

**A/N:** Some of my Twitter friends will recognize part of this chapter from a conversation we had a while back. You all are the best.

Thank you, wonderful readers, for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following. I love hearing from you and always look forward to reading your comments. Keep them coming!

Check out my blog. There are some cool photos there today, especially one of a very specific boat that's mentioned.

Finally, thanks to **AgentInWaiting** who, despite a very busy work schedule, beta'd this for me.

**Chapter 50 – Come Sail Away**

"Seriously, does this bulletproof vest make my butt look big?" Chuck asked as he, Sarah and Carina walked through the parking lot at Port Hercule, their destination being the slip where they were to meet Roland and be ferried to Benoit's yacht.

While Sarah snickered at her husband's quip, Casey was clearly not amused and growled into their earwigs, "Can the comedy routine, Han, and keep your head in the game." The trio knew that their cell phones might be confiscated again when they boarded Benoit's yacht so they had no choice but to wear their comms. Both women wore their hair down to cover their ears. Sarah just hoped no one looked too closely in Chuck's ear. If anyone did notice it, she'd instructed him to reply that it was a hearing aid.

Carina peered over the top of her sunglasses, making a show of checking out Chuck's backside, even as she pulled one of her two Louis Vuitton suitcases behind her. Chuck, ever the gentleman, assisted Carina by rolling the other along with him. "You have an awesome butt. And I'm loving the fact that I can see your Superman boxers through your trousers."

"Thank you for ripping off _that_ scab," he said in a grumpy tone. In an attempt to look like he belonged on a yacht, he'd tried on Barstow's white linen _Miami Vice_ suit complete with black t-shirt and canvas loafers. Bridget had taken one look at him, scrunched her nose and intoned a long and rather plaintive, "Noooo." Unfortunately, he needed to wear a jacket to conceal the vest Sarah insisted he don and since it was their only option, safety won out over fashion. It had warmed her immensely when, at her suggestion that he wear his black chucks instead of Barstow's loafers, a smile exploded on her husband's face. Wearing his favorite footwear had obviously taken the sting out of it all and he had even suffered Casey calling him "Crockett" in silence. "And for your information, madam," Chuck sniffed in response to Carina's gibe, "they're Batman boxers, not Superman."

"'Cause that makes it better," Carina replied with a snort.

"Enough with the jibber jabber, Mara Jade," Casey said, cutting in. When Sarah had mentioned that Carina needed a _Star Wars_ code name, approximately a tenth of a second passed before the kids and Chuck blurted together, "Mara Jade." Even so, to a person, they agreed it was best to keep the fact that Mara Jade married Luke Skywalker, Agent Barstow's handle, to themselves.

Carina blew out a breath and groused, "I can't believe I'm being called a _Star Wars_ character. And one that's not even in the movies. What's it called? Extended universe? Expanded universe? Holy crap. I can't believe what my life's become." She leaned forward to look past Chuck and shot Sarah the stink eye. "I blame you."

Sarah grinned back at her friend. "I'm okay with that. And I don't know what you're complaining about. We already told you she's a badass redhead. It fits."

She burst out laughing when Carina gaped at her and said, "I don't even know who you are anymore."

"That's okay," Sarah replied, the smile never leaving her face. "I do." Chuck reached out with his free hand, took hers and entwined their fingers.

They walked together down the wide, center pier that stretched out to where the larger, more impressive yachts were docked. Since the port was arranged in such a way that boats of similar size were moored in the same area, they wouldn't get close to the very largest ones. In fact, they had gone a short distance when, following the directions they were given, turned left onto a narrower walkway and continued along, now single file. The boats on either side of them were tethered with ropes lashed to the cleats that lined the edges of the floating dock.

Taking Casey's admonition to heart, they walked in companionable silence. It was anything but silent around them, however. Squawking seagulls circled overhead while ropes clanged against the tall masts on the sailboats one section over. The water slapping against the fiberglass hulls of the boats they passed made unique, hollow popping sounds.

They were about halfway down the dock when Carina, in the lead, pulled up so suddenly Sarah nearly tripped over the redhead's suitcase. "What?"

"I need to meet the owners of this boat," Carina said, indicating a small pleasure craft with a dip of her head. "They obviously have the best taste in the world."

Sarah turned and looked at the nameplate affixed to the stern. She snorted and shook her head in disbelief. There before them in all her glory was the _Carina II_. "Of course we would walk right past this boat with this name."

"It's a sign."

"A sign? For what?" Chuck asked.

"That we'll kick ass on our mission today. That I'm awesome and this is the universe's way of reminding me." She dug through her bag and pulled out her phone. Holding it up, she snapped a picture. "Who are we kidding? It's both."

"There's that low self-esteem again," Chuck said drily.

"That's enough dawdling. Keep it moving," Casey ordered. "Just get on board Palpatine's tub and get this thing over with."

"You're always in such a hurry, Boba Fett," Chuck said.

"Don't I know it," Carina said with a put upon sigh.

A low, feral snarl rumbled over the comms from Casey while at the same time Sarah heard Barstow choke and begin to cough. Vegas, running comms from the hotel, cleared his throat.

Sarah put her hands on Carina's shoulders and spun her to face the end of the walkway. With a gentle shove she got the redhead moving again. "Always ready to toss a grenade, aren't you Mara Jade."

"Somebody's got to keep them on their toes."

When Chuck made a half-snorting, half-chuckling noise, Carina, with eyebrow raised, glanced at him over her shoulder. "Frog in my throat," Sarah heard him say from directly behind her. When she turned her head and peeked at him, he lowered his sunglasses and winked back.

They arrived at the end of the dock where they found Roland and a young man dressed in khakis and a navy blue polo shirt waiting for them. It wasn't much of a stretch to assume he was a member of the yacht's crew. Behind them and tied to the end of the pier was the yacht tender Benoit had mentioned the night before. It wasn't some inflatable dinghy with a tiny outboard motor. Rather, it was a large, wide motorboat with lots of cushions for seating both in the bow and at the stern, making it clear its primary function was to carry passengers. Unlike so many of the boats in the harbor, however, it wasn't white. Instead, the fiberglass hull was a rich navy blue and the deck was covered with teak. There was also a teak platform off the back for when the boat was used for scuba diving, waterskiing or pulling donuts. Sarah thought of the kids and pictured them clambering onto it, ready for a day of fun in the sun and on the water. Since she estimated the boat to be around twenty-five feet in length, it would certainly accommodate the entire family. Another thought hit her. The twenty-five footer before them was nothing to sneeze at. But if it was just a "runabout" she couldn't imagine how large the yacht itself must be. It promised to be impressive.

"It is nice to see you all again," Roland said with a tip of his head. "You ladies are looking lovely as always." The two spies were in the same sundresses they had worn when the entire family went to dinner their first full day in Monaco. Sarah pursed her lips when she noticed one of Roland's eyebrows appear over the top rim of his sunglasses when he glanced down at Chuck's shoes. "Monsieur Charles, you are looking very," he briefly hesitated, "stylish."

With an unsure smile, he said, "Yeah, um, thanks."

"He's right, Chuck," Sarah said, flashing him a megawatt grin. "You do look stylish."

Happiness and relief filled her when she watched his uncertain smile morph into a genuine one.

"Monsieur Benoit anxiously awaits your arrival," Roland said. His gaze flicked down to Carina's suitcases. "He will be most pleased to see that you brought along your belongings, Mademoiselle Caryn."

If Benoit knew what was actually hidden in those suitcases, he probably wouldn't be that pleased at all, Sarah thought.

"Shall we?" Roland asked with a sweep of his hand toward the awaiting boat.

The crewman hopped into the craft first. Roland then picked up the larger of Carina's suitcases by the handle and passed it across to him. "That is a surprisingly heavy bag," Benoit's number two man remarked.

"I'm an efficient packer," Carina responded quickly. "You'd be surprised at the amount of stuff I can cram in a suitcase." Sarah just hoped the secreted weapons didn't clank against each other.

Once the luggage was stowed, the three passengers nimbly stepped into the boat. Chuck and Sarah sat together on the cushions at the back while Carina took a seat at the bow. The crewman stood behind the wheel and switched on the inboard motor. The engine purred so quietly as it idled, Sarah could barely hear it.

Roland was the last to come aboard. He opened a small refrigerator and took three bottles of water out and handed one to each of his passengers. Then he went to the bow and untied the rope from the cleat while the crewman did the same at the back. The two men nodded to each other and gave the dock a shove, pushing the boat away from it.

The crewman returned to the wheel and moved the handle of the throttle forward a little. The boat slowly pulled away from the floating walkway and as they maneuvered through the marina, Sarah heard Casey say in her ear, "We've got your trackers on the move. Leia, cough once if you copy."

As requested, Sarah coughed quietly into the back of her hand and then took a swallow from her bottle. It was a relief knowing Casey and Barstow were tracking their movements as well as having them on comms. "Roger," Casey replied to her signal. "We're moving out. I'll let you know when we reach our position."

Once the boat was past the final quay, the crewman pushed the throttle forward again and sped it up. There was still plenty of boat traffic and anchored yachts to navigate through, so they weren't traveling at the boat's top speed. Even though they were now outside the port and the protective breakwaters that made the water there as smooth as glass, the boat barely bumped as it skimmed over waves, seemingly barely touching the water's surface.

It was no surprise to Sarah that once they were out on the sea, the helmsman headed the boat in an easterly direction. Before they left the hotel, they knew where the yacht was since the tracker Carina had attached to Benoit's cummerbund was transmitting. As they had suspected all along, it was not anchored off the coast of Monaco. Instead, they learned it was a located few miles northeast of Monte Carlo, off the coast of the French seaside city of Menton.

Turning to look behind her, Sarah watched the white wake left by the boat as it streaked across the Mediterranean. It wasn't long before they skirted around the tip of the Cap Martin peninsula and turned north. As they drew nearer to their destination, Sarah noted the impressive number of yachts along this part of the Riviera as well. While there weren't as many as anchored off the coast of Monaco, it was still enough that Benoit's yacht could mix in with the rest.

As the crewman angled for Benoit's "tub" as Casey had put it, Sarah saw immediately it was anything but. It may have been mixed in with the other vessels, but it was obviously the largest and most impressive of the bunch. Gleaming a bright white in the afternoon sun, it outshone everything else on the water. And it was huge. It was close to two hundred feet in length and Sarah could see that it had at least three levels. Despite its size, with its long, pointed bow, it was obviously built to be fast and slice through the water.

Chuck rested his arm across the top of the seat back behind his wife and leaned into her. Putting his mouth to her ear—thankfully for Casey's sake it was the one without the earwig—he said, "Please stop me if I try to stand at the front of that yacht, spread out my arms and yell, 'I'm king of the world!'"

She snorted and bumped him with her shoulder. _Titanic_ was a movie Lizzie and Lisa had watched at least a dozen times and she knew it well. With a wicked smile, she replied in his ear, "Okay, but only if you promise we recreate that one scene," she paused, "you know," and then hesitated again for full effect, "the one in the backseat of the car." His entire body shuddered and his ear flamed the color of a cooked lobster when she added, "Again." With both the helmsman and Roland sitting with their backs to them, Sarah felt free to kiss the crimson ear and did so with a smack. "There might be a car in the yacht's garage."

He craned his neck to look at her. Their noses nearly touching, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A garage? On a yacht?"

"Mm-hmm." She thought of their garage at home. Besides the Porsche and the van, it was home to plastic sleds, skis, the rider snow thrower and enough bicycles of different shapes and sizes to rival any bike shop. "Superyachts can have garages just like a house where they can stash all their, um," she searched for the right word, "toys. Scuba gear, water skis, wakeboards, snorkel stuff, fishing tackle. Like I said, there might be a car."

She grinned and despite the wind on her face, felt the heat rise on her cheeks when he bounced his eyebrows and implored, "Please, let there be a car."

Still smiling, she faced forward again and was surprised to see Carina taking their picture with her phone. Looking smug, the redhead tapped the screen with her thumbs and then held up her phone for Sarah to see and wiggled it.

Sarah got the hint, took her phone from her purse and read the text she'd just received from Caryn Mitchell. "Check your Facebook."

Sarah lowered her chin, gazed at her friend over the top of her sunglasses and received a mischievous smirk in response. Now curious, she opened the app and scanned her newsfeed. Sarah Irving had been tagged in a photo. The picture was of her and Chuck snuggled together at the back of the boat, heads together, looking very cozy, completely smitten and utterly oblivious to the rest of the world. The caption read, "Lisa, I just won my five bucks back."

"Lisa W." had already "liked" the picture.

With a crooked smile, Sarah composed a return text. "Congratulations. We're glad to help. Surprised she bet against us."

"She thought you would hold out until you got to the yacht," came the response.

Sarah tapped into her phone, "Tell her I'm not even a little sorry."

Chuckling, Carina returned her phone to her purse and Sarah did the same.

A few minutes later, the tender was successfully docked at the back of the yacht. Benoit, who had obviously been waiting for them, stood from one of the armchairs set up on the large teak swimming platform to welcome them as they stepped onto the ship. Sarah hid her surprise when she saw Pavel Zuyev standing there, too. When she thought about it, though, it made sense. If he and Benoit were truly like brothers, having Zuyev stay with Benoit as his guest wasn't a stretch at all. She just hoped he'd kept his mouth shut about their "rendezvous" in Moscow. If he'd already blabbed to Benoit, they were most likely walking into a trap. Based on the way he'd reacted to her the night before and the way he avoided eye contact with her now, she was pretty sure he was still spooked.

Benoit took both of Carina's hands in his and kissed her cheeks. "Caryn, my dear, you are stunning as always. Did you have a restful sleep?"

"I did, thank you." She cocked her head and dropped her voice. "You might be happy to know my massage was pretty great, too. I'm feeling really relaxed and… flexible." His response was a wolfish grin.

Well, _that_ didn't take long, Sarah thought to herself with an inner snort. It did make her happy, though. It was part of the plan and Carina was getting them off to a fast start.

At least Benoit was able to curb his urges, for the moment anyway. Propriety and manners won out when he shook Chuck's hand and then kissed Sarah's cheeks in greeting. "Welcome aboard the _Saltair_. I hope you will enjoy your afternoon here."

"I'm sure we will, thank you," Chuck said.

"You all remember my good friend, Pavel," he said indicating the Russian. "He has been staying with me these last few days."

"Yes, of course. It's nice to see you again," Sarah said, her tone light and friendly. His smile was weak and wobbly in return. She couldn't wait until she got the chance to tranq him and stuff him in a hold for the rest of the day. Perhaps she would lock him in a bathroom. Given their history, it seemed fitting.

"Come," Benoit said, indicating the two sets of stairs on either side of what Sarah assumed to be the garage door. The word "Saltair" was emblazoned across the door in large black letters, with "George Town, CI" painted on in smaller letters underneath. At least they now knew it was registered in the Cayman Islands. She wondered what shell corporation of Benoit's was listed as the owner. At that point, it was academic. They were on the ship and that was all that mattered.

"Let me show you around my floating villa. We will skip the garage behind this door. It is where we store our watersport equipment and my BMW."

Upon hearing the news that there was, indeed, a car on the ship, Chuck jerked just a little. Other than some rapid blinking, Sarah was generally successful in keeping a straight face.

"If you have a car in the garage, where do you put the tenders?" Carina asked. When they arrived at the _Saltair_, there was a second tender already tied at the stern. Sarah had also noticed two waverunners tied up to the sides of the yacht, one on each side.

"There is a place on the top deck where they are secured when we are at sea. Otherwise, they are tied off the stern. Which reminds me." He turned to Roland and said, "Have the steward take Mademoiselle Caryn's luggage to the master suite and tell the captain we are ready to get underway."

Sarah tried not to stumble from surprise as she went up the steps to the main deck. They had all assumed the yacht would remain anchored while Chuck and Sarah were aboard. Casey and Barstow had taken up their backup positions and staged their assets accordingly.

"Henri, Sarah and I weren't planning on—" Chuck started.

"Oh, no. I am sorry. I have not explained. We are simply sailing back toward Monaco for now. Think of it as us 'dropping you off' before Caryn and I are on our way. It will allow us a little more time together before you disembark. It also gives me a chance to show off my jewel_._ It is remarkable how smoothly she glides over the water, like a leaf floating across a still pond."

"I didn't know you were such a poet, Henri," Carina said, rubbing her fingers over the whiskers on his cheek.

"I am a man of many talents," he replied suggestively. Sarah managed to successfully swallow down the groan that nearly escaped.

"We'll move when you do," Casey advised through the comm, thankfully pulling her back from having to think about Benoit's "talents." The yacht sailing to a different location was a wrinkle they weren't expecting, but Sarah didn't think it would affect the overall plan.

Now one level up from where they'd come aboard, Benoit led them through another outdoor seating area to what he called the main salon. It was beautifully decorated with two side-by-side dark gray armchairs and two lighter gray sofas covered with throw pillows facing each other. A candle covered table sat at the center of the seating area. The walls were painted a glossy black lacquer, which Sarah would later come to find was used extensively throughout the interior of the vessel. She watched Chuck as he wandered about the room, running his hands across the top of the backs of the chairs and even picking up one of the pillows.

Off in one corner of the room, a young woman with long brown hair and wearing the same type of navy blue polo shirt as the other members of the crew stood behind a bar. Addressing the stewardess, Benoit said, "Dave Brubeck, please, Victoria. _Take Five_."

"Yes, sir," she said. She tapped at the screen of an iPad and within ten seconds, from every corner of the room, a drum started off in an irregular beat, the piano coming in with its own rhythm a few measures later. Not knowing much about jazz, Sarah was surprised when she recognized the melody when an alto sax joined it. The word that best described what she was hearing was "cool."

"May I prepare a drink for any of you?" Victoria asked with an Australian accent. So far, they had encountered four different members of the crew: the South African boatswain who had driven them to the yacht, the two deckhands—one German and the other Italian—who had helped tie the boat to the landing when they arrived, and now the Australian stewardess. They were all young, attractive and athletic. It was more than likely they had been hired to tend the _Saltair_ and its owner and had no knowledge of Benoit's criminal and terrorist ties. They didn't look like the types that would turn out to be AK-47 wielding minions, but she couldn't know for sure. One thing she _did_ need to know for sure was the exact number of people on the ship at that moment and their locations.

"Nothing for me right now, thank you," Sarah answered. "Maybe after we see more of this incredible yacht." Turning to Benoit, she said, "Henri, I've never seen anything like this. It's simply stunning. I can't wait to see the rest of it."

He grinned at the compliment. "Let us continue then, shall we?" Before they left the room, he said to Victoria, "We will be taking our drinks on the sundeck."

"Very good, sir," she replied with head tilt.

"A vessel this large must require a lot of people to keep it running smoothly," Sarah said. "How many crewmembers are aboard?"

"There are nine. I recruited the best and most experienced men and women the yachting world has to offer. Only the finest for a ship as exceptional as the _Saltair_."

"How wonderful for you to have assembled such an accomplished team," she replied, masking her frustration at Beniot always having so many people around him. Even if they weren't technically his bodyguards, if they perceived their boss was being targeted for any reason, they would come to his aid with weapons sure to be stashed away for the crew's use to defend the ship. There were a lot of people the team would have to deal with before they could get Benoit into custody. But with only Roland, Luc and André as Benoit's primary line of defense, the odds were a lot better for them than they had been in the casino the night before. She needed to concentrate on the known threats and go from there.

They walked forward, through a formal dining room consisting of a black table with twelve white chairs around it and into a small corridor. "The galley is through there," he said. Sarah peeked in to see a kitchen any gourmet cook would love. Under the watchful eye of Roland and with the assistance of what Sarah assumed to the aforementioned but as of yet unseen steward, the chef busily prepared what looked like a tray of appetizers. She could now account for six of the nine crewmembers.

Benoit opened a door. "This little foyer leads us into the master suite." He and Carina continued into the bedroom, but Sarah had to stop to admire two large, framed prints of Marilyn Monroe hanging next to each other on the wall. The iconic blonde sat hunched forward on a short wicker chair, her knees and the lower half of her legs thinly veiled behind the gossamer tulle of a white ballet dress. Both charming and impish, her playfully crooked ankles bent her toes against the blue floor. Toenails, fingernails and lips were all adorned with the same bright red. Of course she was breathtakingly beautiful, with her enigmatic smile and finger on her chin. But it was the startling vulnerability in her eyes that drew Sarah in.

Chuck came up and stood right behind his wife. Into her ear he whispered, "I want prints of those, too, but instead of Marilyn Monroe, the woman in the ballet dress needs to be you."

Her knees grew weak and she nearly collapsed into nothing more than a mass of quivering goo. Between the incredibly sweet thing he'd just said, his moist breath in her ear and the way the front of his body grazed her back, she had to fight the urge to throw him on Benoit's bed right then and there and do unspeakable things to him. Of course that couldn't happen, so instead, she gently dug her elbow into his stomach—or at least into his bulletproof vest—and replied, "That's a really sweet thing to say, Chuck. You're a pretty smooth talker for being such a giant nerd."

"Everything I know I learned from _Star Wars_." When she cut her eyes up at him from over her shoulder, he waggled his eyebrows and with a cheeky smile said, "Tonight, this Han doesn't want to fly Solo."

She couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled up. Not to be outdone, she spun around to face him. Pressing her front to his, she batted her eyelashes at him and purred, "Is that a lightsaber in your pocket or are you happy to see me?"

It was a direct hit. His eyes crossed and he breathed a quiet groan. She ignored Casey's predictable, "You two are gonna make me puke" grumbles and gave her snake-bit husband a peck on the lips. Had they been at home, she would have left him standing there like a switched off droid to enjoy his brain melt. However, there was no way she was leaving his side today, so she grabbed his hand and tugged him along behind her as they headed for the master bedroom.

When they stepped into the room, it was, as expected, elegant and sophisticated. She noted that Carina's suitcases were already standing in one corner of the room. After checking out the huge, marble and tile bathrooms, she said, "His and hers bathrooms, Caryn. And yours has a Jacuzzi tub in it. Nice." When Carina didn't answer, she looked over at her friend. Sarah could read the scheming going on behind her eyes, knowing that if Carina had her way, she'd dump Benoit overboard and live on the yacht herself. Honestly, Sarah could see her friend doing just that. The kids would certainly enjoy visiting their yachting Aunt Carina.

While Chuck roamed around the bathrooms, Sarah wandered through the room and peeked into the master suite study. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the laptop computer that sat atop the black lacquer desk and the open briefcase on the sofa. Not wanting to appear as if she was overly interested in the study by lingering there, she made mental notes of its contents and returned to the rest of the group.

"We seem to have hit the front. Where to next, Henri?" Carina asked.

"We will go up a level," he replied. He led the way out of the room and up a circular staircase. They turned and walked onto the bridge where the captain and his first officer were conferring. A semi-circle of tinted glass windows gave the ship's pilots a one hundred-eighty degree view over the bow. Two leather chairs were set up behind the navigation console, which was fitted with five state-of-the-art flat screens. At the center of the console was the ship's wheel.

"Captain Landry, please ignore us. I am showing my guests around," Benoit said.

"Very good, sir," the captain replied. "The deckhands are securing the tenders and the engineer is about to start the engines. We will be underway in about twenty minutes." His accent told Sarah he was American.

"Excellent. Carry on," Benoit said and herded his guests out of the room.

Captain, first officer and engineer completed the crew. With the intel she'd gained over the course of the tour, she grew more confident that their plan was going to work.

They walked past the captain's living quarters and into another living room with another bar in the corner. A flat panel TV was on and when two of the three men occupying the couch saw the group enter, they sprang to their feet. Luc Beaufort, head of security, and André the bodyguard stood before their boss while Zuyev, who had split off from the rest of the group when they started the tour of the yacht, remained seated with a drink in his hand.

"Please, go back to watching your football match, gentlemen," Benoit said with a wave. "We are simply just passing through. We will be on the sundeck."

"Yes, sir," Beaufort replied.

Sarah was more than a little pleased at how relaxed security was. They clearly didn't see Carina, Chuck and her as a threat. That would definitely work in their favor.

The two men tipped their heads acknowledging the visitors, but otherwise remained silent as the foursome stepped through the large, open sliding glass door. Standing next to another black dining room table with twelve chairs, Henri said, "Once we drop anchor off the coast of Monaco, I thought it would be pleasant if we dined alfresco this evening, if that is acceptable to you."

"That sounds wonderful, Henri," Carina said. "We're all looking forward to that. I'm sure it will be lovely."

Chuck ran his hand across and under the smooth, marble-topped table, admiring it. Looking up he smiled and nodded in agreement. If things went according to plan, Benoit—who was to be lured to his bedroom by a frisky Carina and then tranqed by her—would be out cold and in custody before dinner could be served.

"Excellent. I'll advise the stewards," Benoit said. "Come, follow me."

The final flight of stairs took them to the top level. "Wow," Chuck said as they stepped onto the sundeck. "You have another Jacuzzi." He went straight for the hot tub and swished his hand around in the water. A veritable raft of sunbeds and pillows surrounded the outside the spa.

"This is a place where I could easily spend most of the day," Sarah said, meaning it. She could also see Curtis and Fred turning it into a wrestling mat in less than five minutes.

A large bridge-like structure straddled a section of the top deck. Various shaped and sized satellite navigation and communication antennae were installed on top of it. Arranged under the shade of the bridge was a bar lined with four chairs, a couch and two armchairs.

"Please," Benoit said, holding his hand out inviting them to sit. He took his place on the couch and made sure Carina sat next to him. It would have been awkward and cramped if both Chuck and Sarah sat on the sofa, too, so Sarah sat at the other end while Chuck sat in the armchair nearest her.

Victoria, who had been awaiting them behind the sundeck bar, came around the end of it and stood before them. "What can I get for you?" She looked to Carina first.

"A champagne cocktail would be divine," Carina said with a smile.

When the young woman looked at Sarah, she requested her usual mineral water, provoking Carina to delicately cough into the back of her hand. At least her friend couldn't kick her in the shin this time. Benoit ordered mineral water as well, which only made Sarah want to laugh and throw up at the same time. Chuck smiled at the young woman and asked for a beer.

A few moments later and just as Victoria brought them their drinks, the steward came up the stairs carrying a laden tray. From it, he expertly set on the table two white plates covered with perfectly arranged strawberries. These weren't plain, ordinary strawberries, however. The centers had been scooped out and filled with what looked like chocolate frosting. The bottom halves of the berries had been dipped in chocolate and when they had hardened, made for effective stands.

Like a contestant in a cooking competition, the steward detailed the treats to the entire group. "For a light summer snack, Chef Catherine has filled these strawberries with Nutella rather than chocolate for a different flavor and texture. If you are not familiar with Nutella, it is a delicious hazelnut and chocolate spread. It is usually eaten at breakfast but is quite versatile and can be used in a variety of ways." Sarah bit her lower lip so hard, she was afraid she was going to draw blood. "Chef Catherine hopes you enjoy," he said and ended his spiel with a stiff bow. He then spun on his heel and disappeared down the stairs.

Sarah heard Chuck make a kind of gurgling, whimpering, wheezing sound and from the corner of her eye, saw him pick up his glass of beer. She assumed he downed several swallows, but didn't know for sure because she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the plate filled with instant fun and happiness. If she looked into his face, she knew it would be all over. She'd tell Carina and Benoit to talk amongst themselves, grab one of the plates of Nutella filled strawberries in one hand, Chuck's hand in the other, and drag him off to the backseat of the Beemer stowed in the yacht's garage. There, they would reenact a new and improved Nutella version of the _Titanic_ car scene. And, as a "we're sorry we defiled your car" peace offering, she'd even pony up for an industrial sized barrel of upholstery cleaner to be delivered to the _Saltair_. She risked a peek toward her husband and saw him squirming in his chair. She was kidding herself. They'd have to buy the man a whole new car.

Benoit picked up a plate and held it out for Carina to take one of the treats. "I hope you do not mind having something a little sweet before dinner."

Carina took one of the strawberries and held it in front of Benoit's mouth. "Well, fun times usually start with the dessert." His eyes never left her face as he bit into the fruit.

Sarah gave her friend silent kudos. Carina had the guy _literally_ eating out of her hand.

Once the shock of seeing strawberries and Nutella wore off, Sarah was able to eat a couple of the delicacies. While she enjoyed them, she found it incredibly distracting. Every bite transported her back to that unforgettable night in Amsterdam where she and Chuck had first discovered the delights of the fruit and hazelnut spread, and she needed to focus on the mission at hand. She did, of course, file Chef Catherine's presentation away in her brain for use in the future.

They spent the next thirty minutes discussing Chuck's fictitious software and the nonexistent biotech company he sold it to. During that time, he was able to finish the story he had just begun the night before, which told of how Charles Charles had become involved in the venture in the first place. Sarah knew some of the story they had come up with was actually true, making it easier for Chuck to sound convincing. While he had been attending Stanford, his friend's sister had continually been in and out of the university's highly acclaimed medical center having been stricken with a debilitating inflammatory illness called Crohn's disease. He had even gone with his friend once to visit her at the university's hospital. When he told Sarah of that day, tears had welled in his eyes. The young teen's quick smile and sharp wit—despite the pain she endured as she recovered from yet another intestinal surgery—had both inspired and humbled him. Chuck had told her he didn't know if there really was software like what Charles Charles had supposedly developed. He sure hoped there was.

Soon after the foursome's conversation began, the yacht had started to move. It had been so subtle and quiet, Sarah barely noticed. The only way she knew for certain that they were actually moving was seeing the trail of white water churning up behind them and the way the coast seemed to slowly scroll by in the distance.

With the crew busy and Benoit's men occupied with watching the football match, it seemed like the perfect time for Carina to lure Benoit to his room. Once they were gone, Sarah would tranq Roland, Luc, André and Pavel before they even knew what hit them. From there, she hoped the crew would respond and assist them once she revealed that she and Carina were actually U.S. federal agents there to arrest their boss, an internationally wanted criminal. If they turned hostile, she'd tranq them, too. Then they'd toss the unconscious Benoit on a tender, drive it to the meet up point with Casey and Barstow, and that would be that.

Carina seemed to have the same thought and changed the topic of conversation. "So, Henri, I only saw one bedroom, your bedroom." She snuggled closer into him and said, "Our bedroom I guess I should say. Where does everyone else sleep? I'd hate for them to be camped out in sleeping bags on your floor. That might be kind of a mood killer."

Chuckling, he said, "Ah, Caryn. You are always so amusing. There is a whole level I did not show you. Below the main salon there are four king-sized en suite bedrooms in addition to the large living quarters for the crew."

While he was speaking, Zuyev, Beaufort and André came up the stairs, joining them on the sundeck and taking up three of the four seats at the bar. Benoit's two security men requested sodas while Zuyev asked for another vodka. Sarah had noticed him red-faced and weaving slightly as he walked. The Russian already appeared to be three sheets to the wind and if he kept drinking at his current rate, he probably wouldn't even need to be tranqed.

"It is a pity, Chuck, that you must return to the United States tomorrow. I believe you will be greatly missed," Benoit said, his gaze sliding toward Sarah.

Chuck smiled and feigning embarrassment, brushed at an imaginary piece of lint on his slacks. "I wish I could stay, but I have an important board meeting Tuesday I have to be at. When it was scheduled, I didn't think it'd be any big deal to be there after my vacation was over. Now it's going to be a lot harder to leave Monaco. I wish I could stay a few more days so Sarah wouldn't be alone for the rest of her trip."

Sarah had to give him credit. He certainly made up stuff on the fly with aplomb. She smiled at him and said, "That's sweet, Chuck, but I'll be okay. It's not a big deal."

"Oh, I know. It's just that I really want stay." He gave her a look that made her insides quiver. "With you."

Benoit sat up straighter and said, "I have an idea. With Pavel returning to Russia tomorrow, there will be an unoccupied room here on the _Saltair_. Sarah, why don't you spend your final night together with Chuck at your hotel and after you see him off tomorrow, you rejoin Caryn and me here. You can spend the rest of your holiday with us and not be alone. We could cruise along the Italian Riviera for a few days. You might enjoy the Cinque Terra. Riomaggiore is particularly lovely."

Before Sarah could respond, Zuyev spun around in his stool and glared at her with bleary, rheumy eyes. He looked like a bull when he swung his head toward Benoit. His words were thick and slow. "You do not want to do that, Henri. That woman is the devil."

"Uh-oh," Sarah heard Casey say. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to hammer in her chest. It appeared that Zuyev's brain-to-mouth filter had drowned in a sea of vodka.

Benoit scowled at the Russian. "What are you talking about, Pavel? Mademoiselle Irving is a wonderfully charming and gracious woman."

"She is not," the other man stated in a calm voice, teetering dangerously on his stool. "It is all a lie. An act. She is from the devil."

"You are drunk," Benoit said with a growl. "Go and sleep it off."

"No!" Zuyev shouted. His eyes bulged and a vein down the middle of his forehead grew thick and ropey. "I am not so drunk that I do not remember when she handcuffed me and threatened me with a knife to find out where you would be, Henri."

Sarah put on a face she hoped conveyed the epitome of shock and dismay. "I… I don't know what he's talking about."

Chin to his chest, Zuyev ignored her and continued to glare at Benoit with red-rimmed eyes. "Do you think it was a mere coincidence that she appeared in Monaco at the same time you are here? No!" He slashed his free hand through the air so violently, the vodka in the glass he held in the other sloshed over the side and splashed on the deck. "It was not. She was going to mutilate me if I did not tell her."

Even drunk, he made a good point. "I would never threaten anyone," she said, standing up. She hoped she sounded hurt and angry and had sufficiently hidden the real fear creeping in.

Chuck leapt to his feet with clenched hands and growled, "That's enough out of you, Zuyev." Beaufort and André, who until then had been watching the proceedings closely, sprang from their stools.

"She says she would never threaten anyone," Zuyev growled, bits of spittle flying from his lips. "Do not believe her. She carries knives strapped to her leg under her dress." He glowered at her, his eyes burning with vitriol. "I am not lying. Make her prove I am not lying."

When Benoit didn't come to her defense this time and his expression morphed from support to suspicion, her stomach dropped to her shoes.

"This is crazy," Chuck said, his voice trembling. Turning to Sarah, he said, "He's drunk. You don't have to prove anything." His eyes were wide with alarm.

A strange and unexpected calm overcame her. The lines and curves in the world around her grew sharp and precise. She knew what she had to do. Staring into her husband's eyes, she hoped her own conveyed to him her sense of calm, of her composure and focused determination. In less than three seconds, she saw a succession of emotions flash in his eyes. Fear morphed to confusion, which changed to understanding and finally resolve. He swallowed hard and held her gaze.

"It's okay, Chuck. It'll be okay." She reached down and slowly lifted the hem of her dress.


	51. Better Together

**A/N:** Surprise! Bet you weren't expecting to see a new chapter arrive a week early. Well, I'm really excited about this chapter and couldn't wait to get it posted. My poor, overworked beta, **AgentInWaiting**, did a phenomenal job of getting through it quickly so it would be ready this week. Thank you, sir.

Also, I want to let those of you who haven't heard via Twitter, I have drafted this story to the end. Yes, people, it's a done deal. I won't tell you how many chapters are left (I might have said on Twitter, I don't remember. I was a little giddy when I announced it) because a girl's gotta have her secrets. I'm hoping to be able to return to posting weekly for the remainder of the story, but I can't promise anything. AgentInWaiting has a very busy work schedule to contend with. I'm sure, however, if you tweet him ( _NeilN) pictures of Yvonne, it might motivate him to keep toiling away at the rest of the chapters.

As ever, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I have to confess, I'm more than a little excited to read what you think of this chapter.

So without further ado...

**Chapter 51 – Better Together**

In a flash, Sarah analyzed the entire scene as she calmly slid the hem of her dress up her thigh. Strategy formed, the second the bottom of her gun holster was exposed, she acted. She jerked the skirt up, yanked her tranq pistol from its holster and leveled it at Luc Beaufort, Benoit's head of security. "Chuck, get down!" she shouted and pulled the trigger. Beaufort must have anticipated her action, since he ducked down and pulled out his gun. He squeezed off a shot at her as she dove for cover behind the chair Chuck had been sitting in.

"Caryn, what are you—" Sarah heard Benoit shout before another shot rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body thudding to the floor.

"You asshole," Sarah heard Carina growl and recognized the grunting and scrabbling sounds of a close-quarter fight.

She was about to move from her position to help Carina when she looked up and to her horror saw Chuck out in the open, putting his shoulder down and ramming it into the substantial gut of the inebriated Pavel Zuyev. He drove the big Russian into the edge of the bar, prompting Zuyev to expel a loud grunt. Then Chuck spun around, grabbed him by the arm and gave it a hard yank. When Chuck bent forward at the waist, Zuyev flew headfirst over Chuck's shoulder and landed on his back with a resounding thud. The back of the big man's head hit the deck with a hard _thunk_ causing him to let out a weak groan before falling silent.

Grinning, Chuck stood over Zuyev and looked down at his wife crouched behind the chair. "Hey, Sarah! I did it! I flipped him just like we practiced at home!"

"That's great, sweetie! I'm really proud of you. Now _get down!_"

His jaw dropped and his eyes rounded, suddenly aware of how dangerously exposed he was. "Uh, right!" A bullet zinged past his head as he swan-dived, flopped on his stomach next to her and wheezed out an "oof" as he hit the teak deck. Recovering quickly, he did a push up, pulled up his knees to his chest and, copying Sarah, balanced on the balls of his feet.

"Are you okay?" she asked, glancing at him.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." Reaching up, she put her hand on top of his head and pushed him lower. "Keep your head down and stay here."

He nodded and hunched over like a vulture sitting on a high tree branch.

She rose up from behind the chair and saw Carina grappling with Beaufort. Sarah didn't have a clean shot and she didn't see Benoit at all, so she stepped toward the two locked in battle to assist Carina. She was almost there when Beaufort yelled a curse and gave Carina a mighty shove. The redhead tripped backward over the coffee table and into Sarah, sending them both crashing to the deck, like one bowling pin knocking down another.

Beaufort ran over by the bar, bent down and picked up his gun that had been knocked from his hand during the fight with Carina. He began to straighten and then apparently seeing Sarah's tranq pistol pointed his direction, ducked. Sarah pulled the trigger a split second too late. The dart sailed over his head. She scrambled to get into a better position to take another shot at him, but while she did so, Beaufort sprinted across the deck and disappeared down the stairs, no doubt on his way to find and protect his boss.

She and Carina clambered to their feet amidst the shattered dishes and busted glass strewn across the deck. Next to the mess lay the hulking, mountainous form of André, unmoving and flat on his face.

"Crap!" Carina snapped.

"You okay? What happened?" Sarah asked as Chuck appeared next to her.

"When André went all Secret Service and dove to cover Benoit, I got a dart in him." She shoved the tranq gun back in her thigh holster and picked up her purse. She whipped her SIG from her purse, ratcheted back the slide and growled, "No more Mister Nice Guy."

Through the earwig, Casey yelled, "What the hell's going on out there!"

"Zuyev blew my cover," Sarah replied, her voice clipping with aggravation.

"Roger that. Barstow and I are still on the road but we'll be on our way out to you soon. We don't wanna have to chase after a moving target so get that rust bucket stopped," he barked. "You hear me?"

"Copy." To Carina, Sarah said, "You go after Benoit and I'll go to the bridge and shut down the engines." Turning to Chuck, she ordered, "You stay up here. You'll be safer."

"No. You're not going anywhere without me."

Exasperated, she shoved a hand in her hair, "Chuck—"

"You told me I was supposed to stay with you at all times and that's what I'm gonna do." The boldness on his face and the defiance in his clenched fists told her he wasn't going to back down no matter what she said.

"Cut the crap, Bartowski," Carina snapped. When Chuck opened his mouth again to protest, she waved him off, "Not you, her." Eyes blazing, she glared at Sarah. "I know you want to keep him safe, but you know what? Casey was right. You're better together, so shut the hell up and go kill the engines." Without another word, she pivoted and raced toward the back of the boat. Rather than taking the stairs, when she reached the railing, she nimbly swung over it like a gymnast and disappeared from sight when she dropped onto the cushioned seating area directly one level below.

Eyebrows high on his forehead, Chuck said, "Wow, she _is _limber."

"She'll be glad to know you noticed," Sarah replied as she hurried over to Zuyev, grabbed his wrist and hauled at it, rolling the still unconscious man over onto his stomach. Leaning over the Russian, she removed a pistol from the small of his back. She nearly retched when the foul mélange of smells—body odor, vodka and a heavy dose of powerful cologne—infiltrated her nose. Bile rose in her throat and her contorted expression came suddenly and without warning.

His Adam's apple bobbed nervously when he swallowed, her husband apparently believing his observation about Carina had landed him in trouble. "Sarah, I only meant—"

"Oh, I know. It's not that." She scowled and stepped away from the source of the offensive stench. Waving her hand in front of her nose, she sucked in some fresh air and said, "Do me a favor and handcuff Zuyev for me, would you? Every time I go near him, I feel like I'm gonna barf."

"Sure, yeah. You don't want me to tranq him?"

"No, save your ammo. Even if he wakes up soon, he won't be a threat if he's cuffed."

He nodded and lifted a set of plastic handcuffs from her purse and bounded for Zuyev while Sarah rushed over to André.

She nudged the big man onto his back with her foot and saw the dart still sticking out of his neck. The guy had never even got his gun out of his shoulder holster before Carina dropped him. She slipped the nine mil from its holder and checked his pockets for other weapons and additional magazines. He'd stashed a second clip in his left pocket, so she snagged it and stood. Chuck straightened, having secured Zuyev's hands, and gave her a "now what do we do" look.

She held André's gun out for him to take.

His eyes bounced back and forth between her face and her outstretched hand. "Sarah, I don't want it."

"I know you don't want it, but you'll take it." It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command. When he hesitated, she growled, "Chuck, take it. Carry it in your ankle holster if you want. But take it." Her eyes shot daggers at him.

He nodded his head so hard, his cheeks wobbled. In one quick motion, he drew the tranq gun from the holster at his ankle and slid the nine mil into it. Then he shoved the extra magazine in his back pocket. "Ready."

Following her own orders, she took her Smith & Wesson from her purse and shoved it in her thigh holster. Then they ran across the deck for the stairs, Sarah taking the lead. Tranq gun held out in front the entire time, she stopped part way down the stairs. When she saw the area was clear, she sprinted down the rest of the way, Chuck right behind her. "Carina! Where are you?"

"I'm still trying to track Benoit down," the redhead said, barely above a whisper. "I'm on the deck with the master suite."

"Copy," Sarah replied. At least she knew they were one level down from her and Chuck's location. Making sure her husband was still close behind her, she hurried past the outdoor dining table and into the room where Luc, André and Zuyev had watched football. They crossed it in a flash and pressed their backs against the back wall.

Sarah craned her neck and peeked around the corner, down the short hallway toward the entrance to the bridge. "Crap," she shouted in a whisper as she pulled her head back.

"What?"

"The door's closed. Probably locked."

"Procedure, right? The captain had to have heard the shots."

She nodded.

"They won't let us in if we politely knock, will they."

"'Fraid not. I'm still going to check to see if it's locked, though." After peering around the corner again, she said, "Do you remember the interior stairwell? The one that starts at this level?"

He nodded.

"I need you to cover me. I want you positioned just inside the entry of the stairs. Stay behind the wall. Anyone tries to come up those stairs, you tranq them. Got it?"

He swiped his fingers across his brow and wiped the wetness onto his pant leg. "Got it." He sounded more sure than he appeared.

"Good. You'll be great," she said with a confident dip of her chin. "Let's go."

They stole down the short hallway. Sarah headed straight for the door to the bridge while Chuck took his position in the stairwell. She immediately noticed the deadbolt lock above the doorknob. She gently placed her hand on the knob, turned it and pushed her shoulder into the door. It came as no surprise when the door didn't move. Pressing her ear against it, she heard two raised and stressed sounding voices on the other side.

She was mentally sifting through her options—since she didn't have her lock picks, she should probably shoot off the lock—when Chuck made a hissing "pssssst" sound and waved her over.

Face animated with excitement, he struggled to keep his voice low. "When we visited the bridge earlier, I noticed a second door on the other side." He pointed to the left. "I bet it's connected to the captain's quarters over there," he said, now jerking his thumb toward the other side of the stairwell wall. "It might be locked, too, but it's worth checking out."

"It is. Good thinking." They slipped out of the hiding place, hurried through the darkened communications room and were confronted by another closed door. Fortunately, this one was unlocked. Sarah opened it a crack and peeked through the gap. It was the captain's quarters and appeared to be empty of people. To be on the safe side, she stuck her pistol through the crack and then burst into the room. A rapid sweep of it confirmed they were alone. With a quick tip of her head, she beckoned Chuck to join her.

She pointed at the closed door opposite the bed. After Chuck nodded his understanding, she crept across the floor and gripped the doorknob. Tranq gun at the ready, she gritted her teeth, twisted the knob and pushed at the door.

Locked.

Anger exploded inside her and tears of frustration sprang in her eyes. She wanted to scream a string of obscenities at the top of her lungs. Not just at another locked door, but at seemingly being blocked at every turn. That was it. No more sneaking around. It was time to blow the lock off the damned door, get the damned boat stopped and finish the damned mission. She switched the tranq gun to her left hand and went to grab her Smith & Wesson from its holster to put a few rounds in the lock when Chuck made his hissing sound again.

She whirled on him, her watery eyes snapping with irritation. Her gut instantly wrenched when she saw his shocked and slightly terrified visage. As if trying to appease an angry lion with a slab of raw, red meat, he lifted his hand with a hopeful smile and showed her a ring of keys hanging from his index finger.

Her aggravation drained away and her face softened, allowing a tiny smile to grow.

He returned her smile, his apprehension having now vanished. He joined her at the door and bent to study the lock.

"Where were those?" she whispered, barely louder than a breath.

"On his desk." His voice equaled hers in volume.

He stood and flicked through the keys. When he found the one he was looking for, he held up the ring by that key.

When her eyebrows pulled together in question, he silently pointed at the lock and then ran his finger along the bottom of the key. There must have been something about the lock itself that told him what the key would look like. It was good enough for her.

She took the key, slid it in the lock and to her great joy, it turned easily. Working under the assumption the captain and the first officer were only there to sail the _Saltair_ and not bad guys, she decided not to go in and tranq them immediately. If anything, having the two working with her and Chuck would be a bonus. She waved at her husband to go around the corner to safety, which he did without question. Then she pushed at the door until it swung open completely.

Back pressed against the wall, she called out in a strong voice, "Captain Landry, I'm with the United States government. Henri Benoit—"

A bullet ripped into the wall across from her, putting a sudden end to her speech.

"Neil, what the hell are you doing? Why are you shooting?" She recognized the captain's voice from hearing him speak earlier.

"They are lying! They're here to steal the ship," replied the voice she assumed belonged to the first officer.

"We're not here to steal anything," she said. "Benoit is a wanted criminal with ties to known terrorist organizations. We're here to arrest him. That's all. We just need you to stop the boat."

"Why should I believe you?" Landry called back.

"If I was here to steal this boat, I'd have shot both of you by now."

There was a long pause. "All you need us to do is stop it?"

"Yes." She held her breath.

"Okay. I'll do it."

"No you won't," Neil shouted. There were sounds of a short scuffle, then a gunshot followed by a sickening thud. On its heels came another bullet blasting a hole in the wall near the first one.

She swapped her tranq gun for her nine mil, flicked off the safety and chambered a round. From her defensive position, she couldn't see where First Officer Neil was on the bridge. If she peeked around the doorframe, she'd probably get her head blown off.

She was about to head back into the captain's room to look for a mirror or something to help her see inside the room when she heard a startled exclamation and another thud of a body dropping to the floor.

"Sarah! All clear!" she heard her husband call from inside the bridge.

Her heart leapt into her throat. "Chuck!" She tore into the room and stood dumbfounded. First Officer Neil lay crumpled in a heap on the floor, a tranq dart stuck in his shoulder blade. Chuck knelt next to captain. He whipped off his jacket, wadded it up, and pressed it against the captain's thigh to staunch the flow of blood from the gunshot wound he'd sustained.

"Chuck, how did you…?"

"I snuck around and used the key on the other door. He was so focused on you, he never saw me coming." Looking down at the ashen faced captain and then back to her, he said, "I take it the first officer is a Benoit bad guy."

"It looks that way." She raced over to the cabinets under the helm. Throwing them open, she found a first aid kit and hurried it back to the captain.

Dropping to her knees, she flipped open the box, pulled on a pair of latex gloves and rested her hand on the captain's shoulder. His breathing was shallow, but thankfully regular. "You doing okay?" She moved her hand from his shoulder to his neck. His pulse was rapid, but strong and steady.

His glassy eyes drifted from the ceiling to her face. He grimaced and whispered, "Yeah."

"We'll get you help as soon as we can."

He tried to nod.

To Chuck, she said, "Your jacket's not too bloody yet. Take it and put it under his head. And then run into the bedroom and grab a blanket or something to put over him."

"Okay." He took the wadded up jacket away from the wound while she lifted Captain Landry's head. After he slid it under the injured man's head, she gently rested it back down on the makeshift pillow. One thing she noticed that relieved her a bit was when Chuck released the pressure on the captain's leg, the wound didn't spurt bright red blood. At least the bullet hadn't nicked his femoral artery. The situation wasn't good, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

When he returned from the bedroom and covered the captain's torso with a quilt, she said, "Chuck, I'll take care of him. You figure out how to stop the yacht."

"On it." He leapt to his feet and stood in front of the helm. "This one looks different than the one on the boat we took out here. Do I shove the hand throttle forward or backward?"

She ripped open a package of gauze and with both hands, pressed it against the captain's wound. "I don't know. What would Han Solo do on the Millennium Falcon?"

"Um…"

"Forward," Landry said in a weak voice. "And _Star Wars_? Who _are_ you people?"

"Chuck, the captain says forward."

"Aye, aye," he replied and shoved the throttle forward. Even though they hadn't been traveling very fast, Sarah felt the subtle change in speed when the engine propulsion stopped.

The steward burst into the room. "Captain Landry, what's—? Holy sh—" He skidded to a stop. "Don't shoot me!"

Sarah went to reach for her gun, but when she glanced up, she saw Chuck standing calmly with his arm stretched out and his gun leveled at the other man's chest.

"What's going on? Who are you? What do you want with us?" the steward asked, his hands in the air and his words tumbling over each other. "Did you shoot the captain?"

Chuck held his gun with one hand while he checked the steward for weapons with the other.

"No, we didn't. Neil there did. We're with the U.S. government," Sarah said vaguely, still working on the captain's injury. "Henri Benoit is a wanted international criminal with ties to terrorist organizations. We came on board to arrest him, but things didn't go exactly as planned."

"He doesn't have any weapons," Chuck informed her.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" the steward asked. "How do I know you're not just trying to hijack this yacht?"

"Trust them," Landry croaked loudly enough for all to hear.

He seemed surprised to hear his captain's voice. "Yes, sir," came the quick reply. The fear on his face turned to concern when the steward lowered his hands and eyed the captain. "Is he going to be okay?"

"There's a slug in his thigh, but it doesn't look like it hit any major blood vessels. It was close range, but fortunately, it looks like a pretty small caliber. We'll do everything we can to get him help as soon as possible," Sarah said.

"What can I do? How can I help?" he asked.

"Do you know how to drop the anchor on this thing?"

"Yeah, I think so. I've seen the captain do it before. Can't do it now, though. We're still moving too fast."

"Do it as soon as possible. In the meantime, put on the some gloves and come here."

He did as ordered and knelt down next to the captain, eyeing her warily.

"What's your name?" she asked. She flashed him a smile, hoping to settle him down.

"Michael."

"Hi, Michael. I'm Sarah. You're American?"

He answered with a silent nod.

"Where're you from?"

"Michigan."

"Okay, Michael from Michigan, keep steady pressure on his wound for at least five minutes. If after that it's soaking through, don't take the gauze off. Just pile more on and keep the up the pressure. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Ready to take over?" she asked, studying his face so close to hers. Despite everything, he seemed to be handling things pretty well.

He swallowed hard. "Ready."

"Switching off in three, two, one." Seamlessly, she removed her hands and he placed his where hers had been.

"You hang in there, Captain," Chuck exhorted. "We'll get you off this rust bucket in no time."

Sarah's heart filled with hope when she saw a minute smile flicker on the captain's lips. "What're you callin' a rust bucket, Solo?"

"Touché," Chuck answered with a laugh.

Captain Landry returned his unfocused gaze toward her. "Get him."

She patted the injured man's shoulder again. "We will. I promise." Giving Michael a quick nod and another smile, she said to him, "You'll be fine."

Michael blew out a breath, looked down at his captain and then back at her. "Yeah, Sarah. We'll be fine."

"Good." She rolled back onto her feet and stood. "Ready to go?" she asked Chuck as she snapped her gloves off and dropped them on the floor.

He nodded. "What do we do now?"

She held up a finger. "Carina. Where are you?"

"I tracked Henri and Luc to the master suite," she whispered. "I'm hiding outside it waiting for them to come out."

"Copy. Chuck and I are on our way down to you now."

They took the set of stairs next to the captain's quarters that curved down a level and found themselves in the galley. Her eyes darted around the room as she tiptoed across the tile floor. Her head snapped to the right when she heard a shuffling noise come from the other side of the preparation island near the stove. She trained her gun on the sound and silently crept toward it. In a low voice, she growled, "Stand up."

She heard a gasp and then some words muttered in what sounded like Spanglish. "I don't wanna," came the woman's American accented voice.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said, her tone now soothing. "I'm a United States federal agent. I'm only after Henri Benoit." She eased around the end of the island to find the woman whose voice she heard hunkered down next to it. The first thing Sarah noticed was the riot of curls framing the woman's face. The second thing was the large, cast iron skillet she held up in both hands ready to swing like a baseball bat.

Not seeing any other weapons—other than the rather lethal looking frying pan—Sarah lowered her pistol. "Are you Chef Catherine?"

The woman eyed Sarah warily and didn't move. "Yeah. You a spook or something?"

"I think it'd be best if we left my exact occupation open-ended. Just stay hidden in here until all of this is over."

"No kidding," she replied, her voice as dry as a bone. She lowered the skillet to the floor with a clunk, reached up a hand and grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine sitting on the island. Clamping the cork sticking out of the top of bottle between her teeth, she tugged it out, and with a mighty puff of air, launched it across the room. After taking a swig directly from the bottle, she held it out toward Sarah. "Want some?"

"No, thanks. I'm good," she answered with a smile. She certainly appreciated the woman's ability to quickly adapt to her circumstances. She glanced around at the interrupted food preparations. Seeing a stack of tortillas, she asked, "Were you making Mexican food?" Strangely enough, a burrito sounded like heaven right then. "I haven't had Mexican since I left the States." This was a travesty that needed to be rectified as soon as they got home.

Chef Catherine nodded. "I make it spicy enough to set your gizzard on fire." She tipped the wine bottle back and took another swallow. "Random bursts of gunfire sort of interrupted that, though."

Upon hearing of the heat that would have been coming their way, it was probably just as well they weren't going to eat dinner on the yacht. Sarah was sure she didn't want a hole burned in her already at times queasy stomach.

Chuck appeared next to his wife and said, "Thanks for the strawberries and Nutella by the way. They were delicious."

When Sarah's cheeks suddenly flamed hot, Chef Catherine's eyes narrowed at her. The woman's gaze darted back and forth between Sarah and Chuck, who was now blushing, too. Settling it on Chuck's face, she pointed the top of the wine bottle at him and said, "You get me out of this mess alive, and I'll get you two every Nutella recipe known to man." A single eyebrow crooked up. "I'll even throw in a free case of the stuff."

"Deal," Chuck said quickly.

"Keep your head down and you'll be okay," Sarah added.

Chef Catherine lifted the bottle in a toast, said, "Cheers," and tipped it back again.

They turned and left the woman to ride out the rest of the incident well armed with her skillet and wine. "Carina," Sarah called quietly into their comm. There was only silence. "Carina!" she barked in a loud whisper. No answer.

Sarah ran toward the galley door and flung it open. Finding the hallway empty, she turned and with gun out in front of her, sprinted through the foyer and into the master suite. Her heart jumped into her throat when she saw her friend on the floor near the door, struggling to sit up. "Carina!" With Chuck's help, they half lifted, half dragged her onto the nearby couch.

Carina let out a groan and put a hand to the side of her head.

"You okay?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah. Dizzy." The redhead put her fingers to the back of her head and winced. "Got a new knot on my head."

"I'll get some ice," Chuck said. He dashed out of the room and down the hallway toward the galley. Sarah hoped he didn't end up with a face full of frying pan.

"What happened?"

"Like I told you over the earwig, I followed them here. I knew there was only one way out and if I positioned myself at the door, they couldn't sneak past me. My guess is Roland came up on me from behind."

Sarah hurried over to the bedroom's study and peered in. The place had been tossed. Sofa cushions had been flipped onto the floor. The desk's drawers were left open and empty and the laptop and briefcase she'd seen earlier were gone.

She returned to Carina reclining back on the couch just as Chuck returned with a bag of ice.

"Thanks, Chuckie." She flinched when she held the bag to the back of her head.

"Benoit cleaned out his office. His briefcase and laptop are gone," Sarah informed them. "He's making a run for it." She was about to tell Chuck to stay with Carina, but she knew what both of their responses would be, so she decided to skip it altogether. "Carina, you stay here. When you feel up to it, check on the captain on the bridge. He's been shot in the leg." To her husband, she said, "Chuck, come on."

She hoped if Benoit and his men had made it into a tender, they hadn't gotten too far. Although a lot had happened, not much time had passed since their plan went to hell on the sundeck.

Taking the lead again, she hurried them down the hall toward the back of the _Saltair_. She stopped at the entrance to the main salon. Incongruously, The Dave Brubeck Quartet's version of _Blue Rondo à la Turk_ played over the speakers in the salon, a strange soundtrack to what was happening.

When she edged her head around to see if the room was clear, a gun flashed from behind the wet bar and a bullet smashed into the wall. She whipped her head back. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they both slid down with their backs against the wall and sat on their heels. Chuck flinched when three more rapid-fire shots rang out.

"They figured we'd come this way," she said.

"Do you think Benoit already took off?"

"I couldn't see if the any of the tenders are gone or not."

"What do we do?"

Her mind raced, trying to figure out just that. They didn't have much time, so they had to act fast. "I need to get in a better position to take out whoever's behind that bar." She heaved a breath and plowed ahead. "Sweetie, I know you don't want to, but I need you to use a gun with bullets. I need you to cover me when I move. Can you do that?"

The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched. "Yeah. I don't like this idea very much, though. I don't like the idea of you being exposed to fire."

"And I don't like the idea of you _drawing_ fire." The thought nearly make her throw up. She fought back the feeling and said, "The only thing that should come out from behind this wall is your gun. Understand?"

He wiped his hands on his pants and switched weapons. "Yeah. Got it."

"I love you," she said and kissed him.

"I love you, too."

"Ready?"

He nodded.

"Three, two, one." Chuck stood, put his hand around the wall and shot blindly in the general direction of the bar while she scrambled across the open space to a position behind a sofa. She crawled on her hands and knees to the end closest to the door that led to the deck. She had no idea if the person behind the bar knew where she was. When Chuck's cover fire ended, bullets were then fired in his direction. Another wave of nausea swept over her when she thought of him being shot at.

When the gunfire ceased, she wanted to ask if he was okay but was afraid any sound from her would give up her position. As if reading her mind, he said softly into the comm, "That was fun. Although I really wish we were doing this with blasters."

She smiled despite herself. Daring to peek around the end of the sofa, she scoped out her next targeted place to hide behind—the armchair closest to the bar. To her surprise, she saw Luc Beaufort duck walk from behind the bar toward the couch opposite the one she was behind. He must have had the same idea she did of getting closer to his adversary and decided to creep toward the wall Chuck hid behind.

She fired twice.

He bellowed and fell sideways, his hands clutched at his side.

"Sarah!" Chuck cried out.

"I'm fine," she shouted back. She leapt to her feet and with her gun still leveled at Beaufort, went over to him. His face twisted with pain, he lay on his side curled in the fetal position, rocking back and forth. Blood was already seeping through his fingers and staining his hands. Picking up the pistol he'd dropped to the floor, she popped out the magazine, tossed it across the room and set the weapon on the table.

Hearing the sound of a motor, she ran to the back of the boat and looked over the railing. Benoit and Roland were in a tender, racing away from the yacht. "Chuck, stay where you are," she ordered.

Her feet barely touched the steps as she bounded onto the swimming platform/boat launch area. The two deckhands looked at her, their faces filled with fear, surprise and confusion, especially when they saw her gun pointed at them.

Without preamble she said in a forceful tone, "I'm a U.S. agent. Benoit's a bad guy. I need that tender!" She pointed out at the launch not far off tied to the back of the yacht by a rope.

"_Ja! Ja_!" one of them shouted. Apparently just having seen their boss take off with his briefcase and laptop was enough to convince them what she said was the truth. Her gun pointing at them probably had a lot to do with their willingness to help her, too. The two men scrambled to the rope and hauled at it, pulling the tender toward them. Sarah kept her eye on Benoit's retreating boat. She was glad they didn't have to bring her boat in far, since the two waverunners attached to the back of the tender slowed things down.

When the tender was close enough to board, the first deckhand shouted to the second, "Enrico, detach the waverunners from the back, hand me the rope and start the engine."

"_Si!_" Enrico leapt into the tender and hurried to the back of it.

An unexpected scream sounded from the deck above. Sarah looked over her shoulder in time to watch the boatswain tumble headfirst over the railing. He fell to the platform below with a resounding clunk. Unconscious, he lay sprawled out spread eagle on his back near her feet, a gun held loosely in his partially opened hand.

Chuck galloped down the stairs and landed with a thump next to her. "He came from the deck that runs along the side," he explained breathlessly, pointing up and behind them. "I saw him through the window run toward you with his gun. He was gonna shoot you so I tranqed him from behind. Got him in the shoulder, but he lost his balance and went over."

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Thank you."

"Welcome. You're still going to tell me to stay on the yacht, though, aren't you?"

Letting go of his neck, she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the tender. "No way. I need you with me. Like Carina said, we're better together." She hopped into the boat first with Chuck jumping in right behind her.

"Carina!" Sarah said loudly into her comm. She pointed for Chuck to sit in the seat next to her as she took her place behind the steering wheel.

"Yeah."

"How are you?"

"The chef chick gave me some wine so now my headache's better."

That probably was against preferred medical treatment, but Sarah kept the opinion to herself.

Enrico, having untied the waverunners and started the yacht tender's engine, jumped out of the boat and onto the platform. He and the other deckhand pushed the boat away from the _Saltair_. As her gaze swept the tender, she saw it was different than the one Benoit and Roland were in. She really hoped different translated to faster. It was a good sign when she shoved the throttle all the way forward and almost fell backward when the boat rocketed across the water. Just above the roar of the engine, she heard Enrico shout, "_Buona fortuna, bellezza!_" She smirked at the cheeky Italian's call of, "Good luck, gorgeous!"

As they sped away from the _Saltair_, she shouted, "Carina! Casey! Here's our sitrep. Benoit and Roland took off in one of the yacht tenders. Chuck and I are going after them in the other. André, the first officer and the boatswain are all tranqued. Zuyev is handcuffed on the sundeck. The captain's been shot in the leg and the steward is with him on the bridge. Beaufort's been shot twice and bleeding badly in the salon. You copy?"

"Copy!" Carina's shouted voice replied. "You two are a married wrecking crew. Told you you're better together."

"No argument from me," Sarah said, swelling with pride. Squinting against the bright afternoon sun, she studied the shoreline and determined that the yacht had just rounded the tip of the Cap Martin peninsula and both tenders were headed toward Monaco. It appeared to her that Benoit and Beaufort were angling to land on shore where there were plenty of people around and their sudden appearance would cause all kinds of chaos, allowing them to sneak away in the ensuing commotion. If Benoit had a car and driver waiting for him wherever he landed, that could spell real problems. She really hoped they caught up to them before any of that could happen. They were still about a kilometer behind Benoit's boat, but with the way they were flying over the water, they were closing in on their quarry fast. However, they were also rapidly approaching the coast and she wasn't sure they wouldn't run out of sea first.

"Casey!" Carina called. "You better be on your way to help me on this voyage of the damned!"

"Keep your panties on!" he barked back at her. "We're on our way!"

Sarah kept her eyes pinned on the boat they were chasing and remained on her feet behind the wheel. It was a necessity to stand since at the speed they were traveling, the bow lifted up out of the water and she couldn't otherwise see over it. It was exhilarating to be going so fast, to have this brief moment of respite to breathe before whatever was to come once they reached shore. The fabric of her dress rippled as the wind pressed it against her body and the skirt, wrapped tight against the front of her legs, ripped and snapped behind her like a flag in a hurricane. Her hair would be a tangled mess later, but she enjoyed the feel of the wind blowing it straight back.

"Chuck! What is it? Are you okay?" she shouted over the growling engine when she noticed him staring at her.

"God, you're hot!"

Chuckling, she shot him a brilliant smile and said, "Focus, honey. Focus."

He bounced his eyebrows once. "Oh, I'm focused."

She rolled her eyes and laughed. "I meant on the mission."

"Oh, right. That."

"Yeah. That." She scanned the coast they were approaching and recognized their hotel to the right. It made her think of the kids. "Fred and Curtis will be excited to find out we chased somebody in speedboats."

"Megan will be sorry she missed out."

"We'll have to take them out on one of these sometime when there are no bad guys and guns involved." Her smile faded as they grew nearer to the tender Benoit was in, so close now that Sarah could see that Roland was driving. She couldn't see Benoit at all and assumed he was slumped low in a seat.

From the left, a helicopter swooped into view and Casey's voice crackled over the comm. "Need some help?"

"Sure, if you're offering." Sarah replied. "Nice ride. Glad you called in that favor."

The door on one side was slid open, revealing Barstow sitting on the floor with his lower half of his legs hanging off the side. He raised an automatic rifle to his shoulder and strafed the water near Benoit's boat as they flew by.

Beaufort ducked and turned the boat suddenly, driving it straight for shore, presumably to get to shelter as fast as possible. They were headed directly for their hotel's beach. Casey brought the helicopter around again and Barstow rained down another barrage of bullets.

"Casey! Barstow! No more bullets!" Sarah yelled when they neared the shore. "There are too many boats and swimmers!"

"Roger that. We'll keep an eye out, though," Casey replied.

Roland drove for shore at a much faster speed than was safe for the number of watercraft in the area. Sarah slowed their boat after having to turn quickly to avoid ramming into a man on a jet ski. Fortunately, the tender responded quickly and the guy only had to deal with being hit by the boat's wake.

The tender Roland and Benoit were in drove right up onto the beach, disbursing nearby beachgoers all different directions. Benoit, briefcase in hand with the laptop now presumably inside, jumped out of the boat and started to run up the beach with Roland trailing a short distance behind. It was only a few seconds later that Sarah beached their tender as well. "Stay in the boat, Chuck," Sarah yelled as she heaved herself over the side and alighted on the shore.

"What about us being 'better together?'" he shouted back.

"You'll be too exposed on the beach. Stay in the boat and keep your head down."

Chuck did not stay in the boat. Instead, he rolled out of it just behind her.

She didn't have time to argue anymore, so they both ran after Benoit. The Frenchman was about half way across the beach, slaloming around sunbathers stretched out on towels, when Roland looked back at them over his shoulder. Apparently trying to buy time to allow Benoit to reach the myriad of cabanas beyond the beach and potentially hide in one, Roland swung his arm back and with gun in hand, fired three wild shots. The bystanders who had remained on the beach to curiously watch after the two boats crashed onto the shore, now screamed and scattered at the crack of gunfire. It was chaos.

Fortunately, the shots missed Chuck, Sarah and everyone else. Sarah stopped, took aim and returned fire. Roland lurched, staggered a step and then collapsed to the ground.

"Benoit, stop!" Sarah yelled at the top of her lungs as she sprinted past Roland lying in a heap.

He stopped, whirled around and pointed his gun at her. She had him in her sights and was about to pull the trigger when movement off to the right caught her eye. A young man with blond hair tore across the beach at Benoit full tilt, coming in to tackle him.

Never before had she felt terror rip through her like it did at that moment. "Fred! No!" she screamed.

Benoit's gun fired and its bullet ripped through flesh.


	52. Sunday Bloody Sunday

**A/N: **Thank you for the passionate responses I received for the previous chapter. Just wanted to make sure you all are still awake. Now that I have your attention, we'll continue on as soon as I thank my beta, **AgentInWaiting**, for working hard to make sure this chapter was ready to go today. Also, he and I had some fun with alternate beginnings to this chapter on my blog, so if you'd like to see some of our different takes on it, head on over (after you finish reading and reviewing this, of course).

Off we go.

**Chapter 52 – Sunday Bloody Sunday**

Sarah didn't even feel it at first, as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. It was like everything around her was happening in slow motion. It was only after she felt the searing pain and the trickle of blood did she realize Benoit's bullet had ripped the flesh of her upper left arm. The gun dropped from her right hand and it flew up and clamped over the gash at the explosion of fiery pain. Blood, warm and sticky, began to ooze through her fingers.

It hardly mattered. Her gait slowed and she stumbled a little allowing Chuck to race past her, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Ahead, Fred, dressed only in his board shorts, tackled Benoit to the ground and began to pummel the man with his fists. When Benoit raised his arms over his face to protect himself, Chuck ripped the gun from his hand.

Tears streaked down Fred's blotchy, red face. "You don't get to hurt my family anymore!" he roared as he rained down blow after blow.

"Get him off me! I do not know what he is talking about," Benoit shouted, still trying to protect himself from Fred's rage.

"Fred! Fred! You have to stop!" Sarah cried, voice breaking. Ignoring her injured arm, she reached down to pull him off Benoit. He fought her at first, twisting and straining to continue his assault. She tightened her grip on his arms and when she said, "Fred!" in a deep, sharp voice, he relented. He turned to her, fear and anger and confusion swirling in his red rimmed eyes. With her injured arm now dropped to her side, she wrapped the other around the sobbing and trembling boy. She held him close, assuring him in soft murmurs that everything was going to be okay.

Benoit lowered his arms, dropped his head onto the pebble-covered beach and squinted up at Chuck standing over him. Chuck's face was like stone and his eyes were hard and cold as he pointed the Frenchman's own gun at him.

"Who are you? What is all this?" Benoit asked. His raised voice was tight with strain.

A chill crawled up Sarah's spine when she heard the deathly calm in Chuck's voice when he asked, "Did you kill my sister?"

"I do not know what you are talking about." Obviously confused, Benoit's eyes darted back and forth between Chuck and Sarah.

"Sure you do, you worthless piece of crap. Or have you killed so many people you don't remember them all?" When Benoit remained silent, Chuck asked again, "Did you kill my sister? My beautiful, loving sister, Ellie Bartowski."

Recognition crossed Benoit's face. "You are Frost and Orion's son?" he asked. "Was this whole charade about revenge? I had nothing to do with their deaths."

"Wrong answer."

"Chuck! Don't!" Sarah pleaded, her voice hoarse and croaking.

Chuck shifted the gun a little and pulled the trigger. Pebbles blasted into the air like a tiny volcanic eruption to the left of the Frenchman's head.

"Are you insane?" Benoit screamed.

"You didn't answer my question." His voice remained calm and measured. "Maybe I won't miss next time. Did you kill my sister?"

Eyes wide and panting for breath, Benoit stared up at him. He dug his heels into the ground and pushed on his elbows, trying to back away from Chuck. "Leave me alone."

Another gunshot rent the air and the ground to the right of Benoit's head exploded. A string of expletives spewed from the Frenchman like venom from a cobra.

Sarah released Fred, who was now watching Chuck and Benoit intently, and gripped her husband's arm with her bloodstained hand. "Chuck, please," she begged. "Don't do it. You can't."

He looked down at her and when he saw the blood on her hand, his eyes filled with panic. "Why is there blood on you? Fred, are you okay? Is it—" His darting eyes fell on the gash on her arm. "Sarah! Oh my God, Sarah! You're bleeding!" He paled and swayed slightly.

"Sweetheart, it's okay." She tried to keep her voice soothing. "The bullet just grazed my arm. I'm fine."

The panic in his eyes was quickly consumed by abject fury. His face changed from pale to red and fiery in an angry flash. He stared down at Benoit. "You shot my _wife_ and killed my sister. Now I have to kill you." His voice shook with rage.

Benoit's face blanched. "No! No! I did not kill your sister and her husband. I had nothing to do with it! I swear! I had no reason to do such a thing. Your parents did everything I wanted them to when I threatened your sister and her family. It really was a drunk driver. When it happened, I had to say I was behind it to continue your parents' obedience."

Chuck's hand trembled as he pointed the gun directly into Benoit's face. Then the ground exploded again, this time inches from the top of Benoit's head. "You're lucky I'm a better person than you, Benoit," he said calmly. "And that I don't like guns." Although his fury was receding, he kept the weapon trained on Benoit as he looked over at Sarah with concern. "Are you sure you're okay? Do we need to get you to a hospital or something?"

Hot tears streaked down Sarah's face in relief now that Chuck's ire had subsided. Shaking her head, she swiped at the moisture on her cheeks with the back of her hand and said, "We'll get it looked at later, okay? We have some other things we need to get taken care of first."

Apparently deciding that Chuck wasn't going to kill him after all, a bit of Benoit's bravado return. "By what authority are you terrorizing me with that gun and holding me hostage?" he asked.

"By the authority of the United States of America," Sarah declared. "You're in a lot of trouble."

In a voice that didn't try to veil the threat, he growled, "You will pay for this."

At that moment, the rest of the kids, pulling Dmitri along, ran across the beach and joined them. They talked and shouted over each other as they hugged Sarah and Fred. When Sarah hugged Lisa, she whispered in her niece's ear, asking her to retrieve the gun she'd dropped down the beach. Lisa nodded, hurried away and soon spotted the Smith & Wesson gleaming in the sun. She grabbed it and flicked on the safety. Pointing it toward the ground, Lisa held it next to her thigh as she hurried back and rejoined her family. At the same time, Lizzie ran over to where Benoit's briefcase had dropped a few feet away, picked it up and carried it back to the group.

At first, Benoit frowned at Lizzie's actions. He then looked completely and utterly confused when Dmitri eased the gun from Chuck's hand. Glaring up at Dmitri, who now stood with the pistol aimed at his boss, Benoit shouted, "Don't point the gun at me, you fool! Shoot them and let's get out of here!"

Dmitri scowled at him. "You are lucky I do not shoot you dead right here and now."

"What? What are you talking about? Do as I say!" he roared. When Dmitri stared down at him placidly, Benoit said in a low, threatening voice, "How can you turn on me like this? Everything you have came from me."

"The terrible things you have done to people over the many years I have worked for you makes me sick."

"You are not without blood on your hands, Dmitri."

The Russian threw his shoulders back. "That might be true. I have tried to make amends and will continue to do so."

"What are these noble deeds have you done, _bâtard_?" Benoit asked, his tone heavy with derision. "Will you be nominated for sainthood?"

As a group, they decided before the mission that Benoit was never to hear that Frost and Orion were still alive, so he said, "I do not have to answer to you."

"You would be _nothing_ without what I have done for you and this is how you repay me?" Benoit spat.

Dmitri ignored Benoit's question, effectively ending their conversation.

Sarah looked down when she felt a tug on her dress to find Megan gazing up at her, the little girl's eyes brimming with tears. She pointed at the bloody gash in Sarah's skin and asked in a tremulous voice, "Are you gonna die?"

She dropped to her knees and crushed the little girl to her in a one armed hug. "No, sweetie. I'm not going to die. It's only a big scrape."

Megan's head rested against her cheek. "You can have all of my Barbie Band-Aids if you need them."

Unable to speak, she squeezed her eyes shut, held her little girl close and nodded.

After a moment, she released Megan and stood. Curtis pulled his t-shirt off over his head and held it out toward her. "Here, Aunt Sarah. Maybe this will help stop the bleeding."

Bridget gave him a little shove. "What are you doing? Trying to give her an infection with that gross, germ covered thing?"

"Thank you, Curtis." She took the shirt and held it against her wound.

Bridget rolled her eyes when her brother made a face at her and said, "See?"

Lisa handed the gun she'd been holding to Chuck, slipped her arms inside her t-shirt and after some maneuvering, stuck her arms back through the sleeves with her bikini top in one hand. Then she pulled one of the long strings from it and held it out to Chuck. "You can use it to tie his hands together until we can get some real handcuffs."

"Great thinking, Lisa," Chuck said, handing the gun back to her. He took the strap and growled at Benoit, "Sit up and put your hands behind your head."

Benoit did as he was told. Chuck wrapped one wrist with the tie, swung it down and held it behind the Frenchman's back. As he brought the other arm down and strapped his wrists together, Benoit's eyes cut toward the kids and he began to laugh. "Am I to understand you are trapped with your sister's strays?"

The man really was a malevolent sociopath. He winced when Chuck jerked hard at the strap. "Aw, did I tie that a little too tight, Henri? I'd hate for the circulation to your hands to get cut off." His words dripped with sarcasm.

Benoit's eyes traveled to Sarah. "And this trash has dragged you in as well," he said in an oily voice. For being bound and having a gun pointed at his head, he seemed pretty bold. Nerves started to niggle at her. Did he have something up his sleeve they didn't know about? They needed to move him to a secure location as soon as possible. "Mrs. Bartowski, is it?"

Megan left Sarah and with arms straight at her side and her little hands balled into tight fists, she stomped right up to where Benoit sat on the ground. "You're a bad, bad man!" she said, furiously chastising him. Then, like lightning, she turned to the side, raised her foot and smashed him in the chest with a ferocious karate kick that left him gasping for air. She swung her foot around and down, put her fists on her hips and glared into his face. "And she's Agent Walker to you."

Affectionate smiles appeared on everyone's faces, except for Benoit's, of course. With an immense amount of satisfaction, Dmitri smirked at his former boss and said, "As the Americans would say, you have just been schooled by a six year-old."

"Tell Megan I'm impressed with her ninja skills," Casey said from the helicopter still hovering above them, "but heads up, Walker. You've got incoming."

Sirens were approaching their location fast. Sarah turned to the arriving Agent Vegas, "Benoit has too many connections around here so we need to keep him hidden. You and Dmitri get him out of here and secure him in your hotel room. Keep a gun trained on him the whole time." She removed the shirt from her arm and handed it to Curtis to hold. Then she slid her tranq pistol from her thigh holster and handed it to Vegas. "If he tries to get out of line once you're inside the hotel, tranq him. Tell anyone who asks you're helping a friend with heat exhaustion. And don't let anyone in unless it's one of us. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. He took the briefcase from Lizzie and then hurried over to Benoit. He and Dmitri hauled the Frenchman to his feet and frog-marched him toward the hotel.

"Casey, you and Barstow head out to the yacht and evacuate the wounded off first," Sarah said as she took her Smith & Wesson from Lisa and put it in her now empty holster.

"Copy," he responded. He turned the copter and it took off like a shot out over the sea.

"The captain's doing okay and Luc's holding his own," Carina reported. "I haven't been up to the sundeck yet, but so far so good."

When numerous police cars came to a screeching stop, their occupants barreled out and swarmed the beach. "Carina, we've got company. If they get out to you, make it a DEA op, okay?" Sarah took the shirt back from Curtis and pressed it against her bullet wound again.

"Fine," Carina sighed. "I'll take the heat for you. You owe me."

"Thanks."

The police fanned out to secure a perimeter and speak with witnesses on the beach. One of the officers approached their group. In French, he asked, "We received numerous emergency calls that there were gunshots. Did you see anything? Can you tell me what happened?" His eyebrows pulled together when he looked at Sarah's blood-covered hand holding the shirt to her arm. "Are you injured, madam?"

"Oh, officer," Sarah said, wide-eyed and breathless and completely ignoring his question. Her mind racing, she knew it was time to mix some lies in with the truth and hope for the best. "It was so scary," she started in halting and diabolically bad French. "My husband and I were out on a romantic walk along the beach and we were headed back to where our kids were when all of a sudden these two boats came right at us and drove right up onto the beach." She really hoped the other witnesses didn't notice she and Chuck were actually in one of the boats, or if they did, she, Chuck and the kids would be gone before the police spoke to any of them.

The Monégasque police officer cringed with a sour look on his face at the way she was mangling the French language and switched to English. "Those boats there came up on the shore," he restated for her, tipping his head in the direction of the two beached tenders. "And then what happened?"

"Oh, good!" she said, slouching with relief. "You speak English. My high school French teacher, Miss Miyagi, wouldn't be very happy with me right now." She scrunched her face and added, "I always thought it was so funny that she was Japanese but taught French."

When the officer blew out an annoyed breath, she continued. "Anyway, one guy shot back at the other and missed. I guess that's the bullet that winged me." She pulled Curtis' shirt away to show him the gash on her arm.

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, madam! We must have that attended to."

"That's probably a good idea, although it's really just a scratch. This isn't much more than when my brother shot me in the backside with a BB gun when we were kids," she said. The words were tossed out there as if being shot was practically an afterthought. Sliding her gaze toward Chuck, she lowered her voice and said, "Although my husband's the only one who gets to see _that_ scar, right Charlie baby?"

Chuck grinned, draped his arm around her neck and kissed her temple. "That's right, honey pie."

Off to the side, Sarah heard Lizzie try to stifle a giggle, which she successfully turned it into a throat clearing. From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw the older kids attempting to suppress smiles while the younger two stood openly gaping up at her and Chuck.

The repulsed look on the policeman's face made clear his distaste for them, which was exactly what she was hoping for. If his mind were thoroughly preoccupied with how to extricate himself from the horrible people and their inappropriate asides, he wouldn't notice the inconsistencies in her story.

She didn't want to dawdle either, so she plunged ahead with her tale. "Anyway, the one guy shot the other guy from behind. That's him over there," she said, tipping her head in the general direction of Roland, who was now being attended to by paramedics. "The one that got shot," she added, as if clarification was necessary.

"What happened to the other man?" the police officer asked. He appeared to be fighting off a monster eye-roll.

"He kept running and went right past the man he shot. Charlie chased him and when our son saw what was going on, he went all superhero, ran in from the other direction and tackled the guy. Such a brave boy." She cut her eyes toward Fred and raised an eyebrow. Her tone was deadly serious when she gave him a pointed look and said, "He shouldn't have done it, though. He could have been seriously hurt."

Fred bowed his head and said in a genuinely remorseful voice, "Sorry, Mama."

"We'll talk more about it later." Turning back to the policeman, she said, "He gets his impulsive streak from me. Anyway, that's why he's kinda scraped up."

The man's nostrils flared as he waited for her rambling story to get back on track.

Her bullet wound was really starting to throb and she winced when she adjusted the wadded up shirt still pressed against it. "Charlie grabbed the gun—"

"And I pointed it at him so he wouldn't get away," Chuck said, jumping in to help her after her flinch. "I'm not real good with guns, though, so it accidently went off a couple of times." He ducked his head in embarrassment. His eyes widening suddenly, he babbled, "But the bullets didn't hit him or anything. They went into the ground."

"If you had a gun pointed at the man, how did he escape?" the officer asked with a frown.

"When I saw the blood running down my wife's arm, I freaked out and completely forgot about the guy. And then all our other kids came running over and it got crazy. I guess he took off in all the commotion."

The officer looked at Chuck's empty hands. "Where is the gun now?"

Chuck's eyes grew wide while he held his palms in front of him and stared down at them. "I, uh. I don't know."

"You dropped it on the ground when you saw that Mama was bleeding," Lisa said.

Everyone in the group looked at the ground around them as if searching for the gun. "He must have picked it up when he ran off," Sarah offered.

The policeman's exasperation with them was clearly growing. "Now we must assume he is armed." He blew out an aggravated breath. "Which way did he go?"

Chuck shrugged. "I didn't see. When I remembered I should have been paying more attention to him, he was gone."

"No matter," the officer replied. "We will be examining the recordings from the various security cameras in the area soon." The officer looked at the kids clustered around their uncle and aunt. "None of you saw anything?"

Seven heads swung from side-to-side.

"And all of these children are yours?" Sarah heard the ever-present hint of disbelief and bemusement whenever they were asked that question.

"They are," Chuck said, his voice teeming with pride.

The other man looked first at Lizzie and then at Sarah. "You must have been very young when you had your first."

"We were in high school," Sarah replied with a touch of embarrassment.

Chuck winked at his wife. "Lizzie was conceived in the back seat of my parent's Crown Vic after junior prom."

Lizzie's jaw dropped in shock. Utterly mortified, she reached out and smacked Chuck on the arm. "Dad-_dy!_ Don't tell him _that_."

Despite the pain radiating up and down her arm, Sarah had to stifle the giggle that burbled in her chest. The kids just let their giggles go. She assumed the older ones laughed at Chuck's comment and the younger at Lizzie's reaction. The reasons didn't matter. The kids were playing along like seasoned pros.

It was clear the officer was now completely horrified and extremely uncomfortable with the sharp change in direction the conversation had taken and decided he was done. "Before you go, I need to know your name and where you are staying in case we need to contact you again."

"We're the Carmichaels," Curtis stated.

"And we're staying at the hotel over there," Bridget added, pointing not at their hotel, but the one on the other side of the beach.

"Very good." Then he asked Sarah, "Can you walk to the paramedics' vehicle or do you require them to come assist you here?"

"Oh, I'll walk. I've had seven babies. This little old scratch won't slow me down." The smirks and smiles on the kids' faces showed their amusement at her comment. She was sure she'd be teased about all of this later.

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, turned and stalked off. She hoped that was the end of their interactions with the police.

"Palpatine is secure," Vegas informed her through her comm.

"Copy," she replied quietly. She wanted to clear the family out of the area as soon as possible, and was tempted to take care of her arm herself, but she knew it needed professional attention. "Charlie baby," she said, triggering another round of snickers from the kids, "I think you should take the kids back to the hotel while I get my arm looked at."

"But—"

She tugged at his shirt to lower his head so she could whisper in his ear. "I want you and the kids out of here. You'll have to walk toward the other hotel and then double back to ours on the next street over."

His head jerked in surprise. "You'll let us go without you or another agent?"

"You're still armed, aren't you?"

"Mm-hmm. My tranq pistol is in my waistband under my t-shirt and André's gun is in my ankle holster."

"Then I know you'll be fine. I trust you."

He smiled and nodded, just a little. "Okay."

"Plus, when you get back to the hotel, I need you to use some of those hacker skills of yours."

"Just more proof that you only love me for my ability to destroy incriminating video of you."

She kissed his cheek and replied in a deadpan voice, "Yeah, you got me."

"Okay, kids, let's go. Mama will catch up with us at the hotel as soon as her arm's patched up."

"See you in a little while, _Mama_," Lizzie said, her eyes twinkling with affection and humor. Even though she was teasing, there was a flutter in Sarah's middle at being called "mama." It was strange and wonderful and only slightly terrifying.

The rest of the kids shouted their good byes and the group tromped off while she walked up the beach toward the emergency vehicles lining the street. Four paramedics hurried past her, carrying a stretcher with Roland laid out on it. Although he went by in a flash, Sarah saw the oxygen mask over his face and the IV bag one of the paramedics held up over his head. When they reached the truck, one of the attendants jumped into the driver's seat while the others quickly loaded him in the back. Once another paramedic climbed into the back with the wounded man, the remaining two slammed the doors and the truck raced off with lights flashing and siren screaming.

One of the paramedics saw Sarah standing by the other truck and hurried over to her.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked. She truly hoped Roland would survive. With the exception of the time she put a bullet between Daniel Shaw's eyes, ending a life was never easy for her.

"They'll have to do surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder, but he should recover," the medic replied. His gaze traveled to the shirt she pressed to her injured arm. "Were you injured as well?"

"A stray bullet grazed me. Could you take a look at it?"

"Of course." He indicated that she take a seat on the back bumper of the truck, which she did. She was pleased to see when she removed Curtis' shirt that the bleeding had nearly stopped. When the medic suggested that they transport her to the hospital where a doctor could suture her wound, she declined, saying that she needed to get back to her family. While her stated reason was absolutely true—she did want to get back to Chuck and the kids—she also didn't want to be anywhere near the hospital where all the other gunshot victims were sure to end up. She didn't want to be connected to any of that at all.

After promising the paramedic she would have her husband take her to a doctor as soon as she returned to her family—in truth, she'd have Casey patch her up when he became available—he cleaned and applied butterfly bandages to the wound. As he did so, she listened to the chatter over the comm in her ear and in the distance, watched the helicopter hover over Benoit's yacht. While Casey kept it steady over the ship, Barstow lowered a rescue basket for Carina and the deckhands and steward she'd recruited to help her, getting first Captain Landry and then Luc Beaufort into the helicopter. Once the two men were safely in the copter, Casey started flying them toward the hospital.

A helicopter hovering over a yacht was sure to call attention, so it wasn't much of a surprise when Sarah saw several Monégasque patrol boats speeding toward the _Saltair_. There were a lot of balls in the air between Benoit stashed away in their hotel, Casey flying a medical rescue mission in a borrowed helicopter and now Carina about to face a gauntlet of police questioning. She needed to get back to the hotel and help make sure none of those balls dropped.

It was a relief, then, when the paramedic finished wrapping her arm with long strip of white gauze. After he poured some water from a bottle to rinse off the blood from her hand and wiped it clean with a towel, he gave her another stern admonition to go to the hospital as soon as possible and cleared her to leave.

"Chuck, I'm on my way," she said into her comm as she, like Chuck and the kids had done earlier, started off in the opposite direction of the hotel.

She heard him blow out a breath in obvious relief. "I'll be waiting."

A tiny smile flickered when she heard his response. He'd texted her those exact same words when she returned home from the mission to Paris where she'd obtained the flash drives from Benoit's house a few months before. When he'd sent that text, she thought he was at home in Beaver Creek. Instead, he had been waiting to surprise her at the airport. And surprise her he did. The even bigger surprise came when he whisked her off for a night at the Brown Palace.

As soon as she was out of sight of the police still working the crime scene on the beach, she crossed over a couple of streets and walked back to their hotel. Her arm ached, her ear was filled with the crosstalk of her team as each of them dealt with their different circumstances, and the list of things that still had to happen before the mission would finally be over made her brain hurt. As much as she wanted to collapse onto the couch the minute she walked through the door, she knew she had to keep going. So near the end now, she had to stay focused and end the mission, and their trip, successfully. With each step she took, her resolve grew. She pressed on with renewed vigor, knowing rest—and home—was in the offing.

She went directly to Chuck's suite and had barely knocked on the door before it flew open and she found herself enveloped in her husband's arms. There was no bone-crushing panic or worry in his embrace. Rather, it was tender and welcoming and full of comfort. She melted into him and reveled in simply being held by the man she loved. She didn't care that he smelled of perspiration and seawater and dirt and gunpowder. They were together and the family was safe. They had weathered the storm.

The kids sat in silence as their uncle and aunt held each other, obviously understanding it was a time for them to find solace in each other after the danger and trauma they'd endured earlier in the day.

Sarah could have stood there the rest of the evening, but when the mission nagged at her, she lifted her head from Chuck's shoulder and gave him a kiss before she stepped out of his embrace. The room remained silent other than the murmured greetings and assurances she was okay when she hugged and kissed cheeks and foreheads of the girls and Curtis in turn.

Finally, she approached a downcast Fred sitting on the couch with his arms hugging his knees to his chest. Head lowered, his face was stoic and his stare remained glued to the floor when she sat down next to him.

"Come on, guys," Chuck said in a soft, yet firm voice. "Let's give your aunt and brother a few minutes alone."

Disappointment etched on his face, Curtis replied, "But I wanna see Fred get yelled at."

"Us, too," several other voices chimed in.

"I'm sure your brother feels the love," he deadpanned and pointed to his chest. "Right here. Such devotion. You'll probably end up on the cover of _Siblings Magazine_." Stretching out his arms, he swept them toward one of the bedrooms. "Let's go."

There was grumbling and literal foot dragging, but he managed to herd them out of the room and close the door behind them.

Sarah peered into Fred's glum face, glanced at the scrapes on his arms and knees, and then down at the closed first aid kid on the floor by her feet. "Nobody's had a chance to clean you up yet, have they?"

He shook his head.

She picked up the case with her right hand, set it in her lap and opened it one handed. She poked around in the kit until she found the antiseptic wipes and using her left hand resting on her lap, managed to tear open a packet. After unfolding it, she gently wiped at the scratch on his forehead just below his hairline. He winced when she touched the rather impressive lump that had already formed there. "Sorry." It was the most movement he'd made since she walked through the door. In a soft voice, she asked, "Can you tell me what happened?"

Stoically, he kept his gaze pinned to the floor.

"Let's see," she said in a conversational tone as she unscrewed the cap from a tube of antibiotic ointment and squirted a little of it on her finger. As she daubed the scrape with the medicine, she continued, "I guess I'll have to use some of my spy skills to figure it out. Based on the fact that you and your brother and sisters were in your bathing suits, I take it you were at the hotel pool with Dmitri."

"You and Uncle Chuck said before you left it was okay if he took us to the pool," he said, sounding defensive. "Lizzie and Lisa and I even stayed right by the Megan and Martie like we promised we would."

"I'm sure you did and thank you for doing that. One person keeping track of seven kids isn't easy, so I'm sure Dmitri appreciated the help." In truth, if the older kids didn't live up to their end of the bargain and look after their younger siblings, Dmitri had permission to end their time at the pool whenever he saw fit. She set the tube down and put a Band-Aid over the cut, careful to not press too hard on the bump. After folding his right forearm back and studying the red and angry looking set of scrapes, she opened another wipe packet. Setting to work, she continued her interrogation. "If you were at the pool, how did you know what was going on at the beach?"

"We saw the helicopter out over the water and ran to where the pool area goes down to the beach to see what was going on. That's when we saw you and Uncle Chuck in the boat chasing the other one."

More ointment and another Band-Aid applied, she moved to attend to his other elbow. "What made you decide to run down to the beach?"

"I dunno exactly." His defensiveness had disappeared and he was much more open, now that he realized she wasn't chewing him out. "I saw the first boat drive up onto the beach, the two guys climb out and start to run. Then you and Uncle Chuck landed and started running after them. I guessed one of them was Benoit." He paused and watched her stick a Band-Aid on his arm. "I was afraid the guy was going to get away, so I just started running."

"You didn't think to just let me handle Benoit?"

He shrugged. "I couldn't let him get away."

"I understand, Fred, but that was an incredibly dangerous and incredibly stupid thing you did." She let frustration edge into her voice. "There were guns involved. You knew what Benoit is capable of and yet you went running right at him. You could have been seriously hurt. Or worse." Icy fingers squeezed her heart at the thought of what might have been. "We're lucky we're only having to put Band-Aids on you."

"I know. I'm sorry. I really am." His chin dropped to his chest under her intense stare. "I guess I didn't really think about any of that. I just kind of reacted. When I heard you yell Benoit's name and saw him with a gun…" She watched his eyes turn glassy and he swallowed hard in a struggle to keep his composure. "I don't remember much after that."

Softening her tone, she said, "You were pretty upset. Do you remember hitting him?" The turmoil on his face made clear how difficult it was for him.

"Kind of." Tears spilled from his eyes. "It's all just a blur now."

"It's okay." She reached out and ran her hand over the top of his head in a vain attempt to tame the wild blond hair. "I understand how you could just react. Your uncle didn't stay in the boat once we landed on the beach the way he was supposed to either." Moving her hand, she took his chin between her thumb and finger and lifted his head. She looked into his eyes, earnestness and sincerity lurking behind the anguish. He really was such a sweet and selfless young man. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you brave Bartowski men." She thought of how her nieces had handled themselves on the beach and immediately added, "And women."

There was no way of warding off the effects of Fred's infectious smile that spread across his face and she couldn't stop returning it with her own. "From now on, you let the professional spies handle chasing the bad guys down. Understand?"

He wiped at the wetness on his face with both hands. "Yes, Aunt Sarah." He started to nod his head enthusiastically, but then his face scrunched in pain and he stopped suddenly.

"What hurts?"

"Everything," he declared with a dramatic sigh.

She was happy to see the old Fred beginning to return. "I'm not surprised," she said as she rummaged around in the first aid kit. "I'm sure there's something in here that will help with that. Can you get us a couple of bottles of water?"

He stood from the couch and groaned. "I feel like a ninety year-old man," he grumbled as he shuffled stiffly over to the minibar. Upon his return, he sat down, cracked the seals on both bottles and set them on the sofa cushion. He scowled when his gaze settled on her injured arm. A bright red splotch on the otherwise pristine white gauze had formed where blood was seeping through the dressing. "How's your arm?"

"It hurts." She managed to get the top off the bottle of Tylenol without jostling her left arm. After dumping four capsules into the open palm on her lap, she handed two to Fred and then popped the remaining two in her mouth. Fred followed her lead and the two washed their pills down with several gulps of water. The cold water relieved her parched throat. "That'll help for when Casey stitches me up later."

"I'm sorry you got shot." His words came hesitantly and the word "shot" seemed to stick in his throat. "Was it my fault?" he asked barely above a whisper.

"No, sweetie, it wasn't your fault. Benoit shot at me, not you." Of course, had he not distracted her, she might have dropped Benoit before he got his shot off. On the other hand, by tackling Benoit, Fred might have saved her life. Since there was no way of knowing either way, she kept her musings to herself.

"I'm still in trouble though, aren't I?"

This time it was her turn to shrug. "I don't think they cover 'should you punish your kid when he tackles a dangerous and internationally wanted criminal to the ground but shouldn't have' in any of the parenting books." She smiled when Fred snickered. "I need to talk to your uncle about it. It's not like when Megan took Uncle Casey's tracker without permission. She broke an established rule." She blew out a half laugh. "For this family, I guess we need a 'no tackling bad guys' rule."

"I promise to follow it from now on," he stated emphatically and then shot her a sly grin. "Should we add no flipping for Megan?"

She picked up her water bottle and rather than take a sip, she pressed the cold bottle against her arm. Following her lead, Fred held his bottle to the lump on his forehead. Then, grinning at each other, they said at the same time, "Nah."

~ O ~

Casey, Barstow and Carina still weren't back, although Sarah had received a sitrep from them and knew things were wrapping up. All three were out on the _Saltair_ working with the Monégasque police to search and secure the yacht now anchored off the coast until one of the large slips opened up in the harbor for the yacht to be impounded.

Benoit was stashed away in the guys' suite under the watchful eye of Agent Vegas. Lisa's bikini string that had been used to tie Benoit's hands was replaced by a set of real handcuffs, which bound him to a chair.

Now that Sarah—with Chuck's help—had changed into some clean clothes, it was time for her to call Director Graham and give him the news. Checking the time on her phone, she calculated that it was a little before noon in D.C. It was an early summer Sunday, so she really hoped for his sake he wasn't in his office. On the off chance that he was actually enjoying what was most likely a beautiful morning, she called his mobile phone.

Sarah watched Megan and Martie play Spy Barbie on the floor of the suite while she waited for the director to answer. From the thin strip of Kleenex wrapped around Spy Barbie's arm, she surmised that Barbie had been shot, too. As Sarah watched the two little ones move Barbie, Joe and Dani around the floor to prepare the dolls for a daring mission to capture the bad guy, she realized it was time for a new doll to join the team. For the long flight back to Colorado, she would introduce the girls to _Spion Barbie_, the doll she'd been carrying in her suitcase since Berlin.

Her musings about finishing up writing _Spion Barbie's_ dossier were interrupted when Graham answered his phone. "Agent Walker, I'm glad you called. You have good news I hope."

"Yes, sir. I do." In the background, she heard voices and noises and music that sounded like he was at a restaurant. "If it's a bad time, though, you can call me back when it's more convenient for you."

"No, no. It's fine. I'm just at brunch with the DNI and a four star. Just a moment." To his companions he said, "Excuse me, gentlemen. I have an important call I need to take." She pictured him getting up from an elegantly set table, complete with a white linen tablecloth, china, and crystal stemware.

He didn't speak as he obviously moved through the restaurant toward a more secure location. There must have been a live band playing, because at one point, he seemed to walk right past a man singing. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard the words, "And in fourteen years they are decomposable. And unlike my home, they are not foreclosable. Freddie-Mac can kiss my ass." If she heard correctly—and the director and his companions were not, in fact, eating at a roadside bar in rural Virginia—she was pretty sure that was not the best choice of song for a Sunday brunch in Washington, D.C.

Eventually, the music and ambient noises receded and when they disappeared altogether, the director spoke again. "Alright, Agent Walker, I'm free to speak. Please tell me your mission was a success."

"I'm happy to tell you it was, Director."

"That's great news, Agent Walker. Well done!" he said, clearly pleased. She could picture the smile—so rare a thing she had only witnessed it a couple of times in all her years of working with him—on the director's face. "You have Benoit in custody? Where is he now?"

"He's currently handcuffed and under armed guard in one of our hotel suites."

"Good. You and your team are well?"

"We are. A bullet grazed my arm but it's a minor injury. There were three people who sustained gunshot wounds: the yacht's captain, Benoit's head of security, Luc Beaufort and his right hand man, Roland LaMarche. Major Casey transported via helicopter the captain and Beaufort from Benoit's yacht to the local hospital. Roland was shot on the beach and was taken to the hospital by local paramedics. The latest report I received indicated all three were in surgery."

"I'll read about the particulars in your report. So local authorities are involved?"

"Yes, sir. Agent Miller has taken point, saying the whole thing was a DEA op and advised those on the ship's crew who weren't loyal to Benoit to be sure to avoid mentioning Chuck and me. Other than an interview with the local police where we claimed to be innocent bystanders on the beach, Chuck and I have stayed away from the investigation. No one other than our team knows where Benoit is currently located. Since a local official or two might be friends of Benoit, we didn't want our agency or the real reason for the op to be revealed."

"Nor do we want to get into a pissing match with either the locals or Interpol as to who gets to retain custody of him. Well done, Agent."

"Thank you, sir."

"Where do we stand with everything then?"

"As I already mentioned, the injured have been transported to the hospital and are being treated. I assume Beaufort, Benoit's bodyguard and two crewmembers loyal to him will stay in local police custody."

"I'll call the head of the DEA and have him make some calls to Monaco. And the rest of the yacht's crew?"

"They're being debriefed. The one bad piece of news is Pavel Zuyev, one of Benoit's cronies, escaped."

"That's unfortunate. How did that happen?"

"He was knocked unconscious during the initial scuffle and was secured with plastic handcuffs. After he regained consciousness, he told one of the crew that Chuck, Carina and I were there to hijack the yacht and convinced her to free him. In the confusion during the time when Agent Miller was on the ship by herself, he took off on one of the waverunners."

"Is this a cause for concern? Do you think he'll try to rescue Benoit?"

"I don't think so. Zuyev let it slip to Benoit that he was the one who told me Benoit would be in Monaco. He could try to get back in Benoit's good graces by saving him, but I don't see Zuyev as being that heroic. My guess is he'll try to get as far away from Benoit as he possibly can."

"We'll be sure to have French authorities watch for him at airports and train stations."

"Yes, sir. As of right now, Agent Miller, Major Casey and Agent Barstow are working with the police searching the yacht for any more evidence. They should be finished soon and will return to the hotel."

"More evidence?"

"Yes, sir. We're already in possession of Benoit's cell phone, laptop and briefcase. We haven't had a chance to examine any of them yet, though. Major Casey and Agents Vegas and Barstow will bring them along when they transport Benoit to our embassy in Paris."

"Negative. You're to keep Benoit and all evidence you gather there until I arrive in approximately," there was a short pause as she presumed he did some quick time calculations, "ten hours."

"You're coming here?" That was a surprise.

"As you mentioned, we don't know who we can trust. I want you and your team and no one else guarding him until I can personally convey him directly to Gitmo."

"Yes, sir." She wasn't especially thrilled by his order since she was hoping to get Benoit away from her family as soon as possible. It was impossible to argue with his reason for wanting them to keep Benoit where he was, though, so they would simply have to deal with him for a few more hours.

"If there's nothing else, I have some calls to make and a plane to catch."

"I can't think of anything right now, sir."

"Fine. See you in about ten hours," he said and ended the call.

She touched the screen with her thumb and dropped the phone on the cushion. She watched Spy Barbie free-climb up the leg of a table and sighed to herself, "A few hours more."


	53. What a Day That Was

**A/N:** You may not believe it, but knowing how close we are to the end, I find myself at a loss for words. So I will simply say, "Thank you, readers, reviewers, PMers and tweeters. Thank you, AgentInWaiting."

**Chapter 53 – What a Day That Was**

"Seems like we're always moving you into Uncle Chuck's room, Aunt Sarah," Lisa said with a smirk as she picked up the last of Sarah's makeup from the bathroom counter and dropped it into the cosmetics bag.

"Okay, now wait just a second," Sarah said, looking over at Lisa side-eyed. "We only moved me into Uncle Chuck's room once and that was after we got married. The first time you moved my stuff was actually all your doing."

"Oh, yeah!" Lisa replied with a laugh. "We put your stuff in the room next to Uncle Chuck's and put Ms. Roberts' things in yours." Her eyes grew round at the memory. "She wasn't very happy about that."

"No, she wasn't, although I didn't mind the switch that much," Sarah said, sending a wink Chuck's direction. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows in response.

"Well, we had to keep her away from Uncle Chuck. We knew you two were crazy about each other. You just hadn't admitted it yet." Lisa said in a matter-of-fact tone as she zipped the top of the bag closed. "We really had no choice."

"Lisa's right. It was for your own good," Lizzie added.

Sarah struggled to fold one of her blouses one-handed and when she momentarily forgot about her injury and tried to use her other hand, it felt like someone had jammed a sizzling hot knife into her arm. She hissed a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth as the shooting pain radiated from her wound up and down her arm.

Chuck echoed her hiss and moved to her side. "Sarah?" he asked in a voice thick with worry.

"I forgot I shouldn't be using this arm for a little while yet."

Lizzie gently took the shirt from her hand and folded it for her. Then she crossed the room and dropped it on top of the rest of Sarah's clothes already piled in her open suitcase. "You should really be sitting down while we finish packing for you."

"I'm fine," Sarah replied with little conviction.

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Please. Ever since Uncle Casey put the stitches in a little while ago, you wince and make a face every time you move that arm. Like just now."

It was true. She tried not to let everyone see how much pain she was in, but it was hard to disguise since her arm throbbed in time with every beat of her heart.

Chuck took the hand of her uninjured arm in his. "Sweetheart, maybe you should take a couple of those heavy duty painkillers Casey offered you."

She shook her head. "I want to keep a clear head as long as Benoit is still in our custody."

"Okay, but promise me if it gets to be too much, you'll take something." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Please?"

His puppy dog eyes were completely adorable and she melted when she saw the concern written on his face. She cocked her head and cut her eyes up toward him. In a soft voice, she answered, "Okay. I promise. But only if it gets to be too much."

A pleased smile grew on his face. "That's all I ask. In the meantime, you need a sling." He crossed over to the bed and removed the pillowcase from one of the pillows. After a couple of quick folds, he stood behind her and draped it across one shoulder and down her front. Reaching around, he gently positioned her arm so that the lower part of it rested on her abdomen at the center of the sling. He kept his arm over hers and hugged her tightly to him, her back firmly pressed against his front. "I'm supporting your arm," he informed her.

"Uh-huh," she intoned drily.

He rested his cheek against the side of her head. "Are you complaining?"

"Nuh-uh," came her quick reply.

He kissed her hair and then brought around his other hand, pulled the other corner of the sling up over her immobilized arm and tied the two ends together behind her neck.

The support from the sling immediately helped her arm feel better. "Wow. I'm impressed," she said, admiring his handiwork. "You've got some pretty nifty first-aid skills."

"Seven kids, Sarah."

She nodded her understanding. It really was all he needed to say. "There is one other thing I'm sure will make me feel a lot better," she said, glancing down at her hand sticking out of end of the sling. She took his hand and tugged him along behind her. Stopping in front of the room's safe, she punched in the code onto the keypad. When it unlocked, she swung the door open, reached in and retrieved her Sarah Walker and Sarah Bartowski passports. She handed them to Chuck who slipped them into a back pocket. Then she put her hand into the safe again and removed the red ring box.

She stared at it, trying to figure out the best way to open it with only one hand when Chuck said, "Here, let me," and lifted the box from her hand. He carefully flipped up the top, revealing their wedding rings. They were exactly as they had been placed during their flight from Moscow to Nice—Chuck's larger gold wedding band laying atop the bed of white velvet and encircling Sarah's wedding and engagement rings nestled in the slot at the center.

With his thumb and forefinger, Chuck picked up his ring, set the box on the edge of the safe and was about to slide the band on his finger when Sarah stopped him with a firm, "No." She took the ring from him and said, "We talked about this, remember? _I'm_ the only one who gets to do this."

Clearly amused, he studied her with raised eyebrows. "Wait a minute. I thought that was only if we were taking them off."

"Well, it only makes sense that it applies for putting them back on, too," she answered. "Now raise that hand and spread those fingers, Mr. Bartowski."

"So bossy, Mrs. Bartowski," Chuck said and winked at her. Even as snickers came from Lizzie and Lisa behind them, he did as instructed and held up his left hand.

Sarah bounced her eyebrows at him a couple of times and slipped the band onto his ring finger. "That's better," she said. Seeing his ring back where it belonged gave her a wonderful, warm feeling. "Your turn."

"Are you sure? Because I don't want to do anything that will hurt you but the way your eyes are doing that scary, eagle-eyed thing right now tells me I'd better put your rings back on your finger or else you're gonna prove once and for all that you can kick my ass with one arm literally in a sling," he babbled in one breath.

Both girls fell out laughing. "Was there ever any doubt?" Lizzie asked.

Piling on, Lisa said with a grin, "I hate to tell you, Uncle Chuck, but she could kick your ass with both arms in slings."

"She's right, you know," Sarah said, her eyes now twinkling with delight.

"Okay then," he said, clearly convinced. "Your aunt is not to be trifled with. Rings it is." With an amused smile, he took them from their velvet bed with one hand and with the other, gently held the hand hanging limply out of the end of the sling. Being careful not to jostle her arm, he slid both on her finger. "Better?"

She twisted her wrist and splayed her fingers out so she could admire her rings. "Much better," she answered and gave him a kiss.

Lizzie glanced over at them and rolled her eyes. "Gah! You two are just too cute."

"At least Uncle Chuck won't be moping around anymore now that Aunt Sarah's back with us," Lisa said to her sister as she closed and zipped up Sarah's suitcase.

"Moping?" he said, as if utterly affronted. He went over to the suitcase, stood it up on its end and pulled up the handle. "I did _not_ mope."

Lizzie shot him an incredulous look as she picked up the bag with Sarah's laptop in it and hooked the strap over her shoulder. "Yes you did. Every morning you got up and wandered around like you didn't know what to do with yourself."

"I did not," he replied, feigning sullenness. From his tone, it was obvious even he didn't believe his own response.

"Please," Lisa said. She picked up Sarah's vase of roses and carried them out the now open door into the hall and joined Lizzie already there. "Friday morning, you were all, 'Is it too early? Can I call her yet? I don't want to wake her up. What time is it? Do you think she's awake?'"

Chuck followed her out of the room, rolling Sarah's suitcase behind him. "I don't know what you're talking about," he sniffed.

Smiling at their easy banter, Sarah made a final sweep of the room. Assured that none of her belongings had been left, she stepped into the hall and shut the door behind her.

The teasing was nonstop as they followed their nieces down the hall. Chuck gave her a heart-stopping smile when she slipped her hand in his and laced their fingers together.

Lizzie turned around and walked backward. Her face gleamed with mischief when she narrowed her eyes at her uncle and said, "And don't you dare deny you were singing when you got ready for your double date with Agent Barstow and Aunt Carina on Friday night."

"What song was it again?" Lisa asked.

"It was that Adele song." She spun back around and sang, "'However far away, I will always love you. However long I stay, I will always love you. Whatever words I say, I will always love you. I will always love you.'"

Sarah tingled from head to foot. "I'm sorry I missed it." Squeezing his hand and looking up at the shy smile on his face, she added, "Your uncle has such a beautiful voice."

His smile turned into a pleased grin and he squeezed her hand in return. Then he winked at her and said, "In my defense, Liz, you were the one playing it on your iPhone. I just sang along."

Lizzie pushed the down elevator button and gave him a look that made it clear she wasn't buying it. "It was the _only_ song you sang along with."

"Yeah, okay, that's true," he said. When the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside, he said, "Fine, I admit it. I missed Aunt Sarah and I hate sleeping alone." After a beat, he added, "But so does she."

"Hey!" Sarah said, bumping Chuck good-naturedly with her shoulder. "Don't drag me into this."

Lisa punched the button for the floor the family's suites were on. "Oh, we thought so. We noticed how tired you've been lately, Aunt Sarah, and figured it's because you don't sleep as well when you're not with Uncle Chuck."

Chuck and Sarah looked at each other and shook their heads. It was like the kids had overheard some of their conversations. It was amazing.

"That and staying out late every night," Lizzie said with a smirk. "I hope you'll be as forgiving with my curfew as I was with yours."

"Don't count on it," Chuck answered with a snort.

"It won't be a late night tonight if I can help it," Sarah said, already beginning to feel exhaustion pressing in on her.

The atmosphere changed in an instant from teasing to serious. "We know you've been working really hard the last few days, Aunt Sarah," Lizzie said. "And with you being shot..." Sarah had to blink back the tears that sprang up when she heard the hitch in Lizzie's voice. The kids were so great, but all of this had been hard on them, too.

"We'll help with whatever needs to be done," Lisa finished for her sister.

There was a ding and the elevator doors slid open. The four stepped into the hallway but remained there rather than starting toward Chuck's suite.

"Thank you." She was so overcome with emotion her words came out as nothing more than a rasping whisper. With her good arm, Sarah hugged Lizzie first and then Lisa.

"I'm so proud of you both." Chuck's face beamed as he kissed his nieces' foreheads. "And your brothers and sisters, too."

"Thanks," the girls said together.

Lisa was the first to start down the hall and the other followed. "So is it all over?" she asked. "Is it time for us to go home? What about Grandma and Grandpa?"

"Once Benoit is secured in his cell at Guantanamo Bay, they should be able to leave Russia," Sarah answered. "My guess is we'll go home tomorrow or Tuesday at the latest. It depends on when we can get a flight home."

Chuck unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Carina! You're back," Sarah said when she walked in and saw her friend. "How are you? How's your head?"

Carina was relaxing back against the couch like she owned the place. "It's fine," she said, waving her hand dismissing any concerns. One eyebrow arched when her gaze landed on Sarah's belongings being taken into Chuck's room. "Couldn't wait another minute to jump back in the sack to—" This time the redhead managed to stop herself when Megan and Martie, still playing Spy Barbie on the floor, turned toward her to listen.

Sarah huffed a breath and shook her head. She wondered how many other _bon mots_ of Carina's had slipped by. With Casey sitting in a chair and glaring at her from across the room, she guessed it might have been her first slip up. Deciding to ignore Carina's gaffe, she said, "Graham is on his way from D.C. to get Benoit and take him directly to Gitmo. Since we have to keep him under lock and key for a few more hours, we thought it would be best if we moved me back here and put Benoit in my room."

"Since you were going to move back here anyway," Carina clarified.

"Yes, but this has the added benefit of getting Benoit a little further away from us." Sarah gave Carina a look that told her that part of the conversation was over. "I caught some of what happened out on the yacht after Chuck and I took off after Benoit."

"You're welcome, by the way, for taking the heat for you so you could squirrel Benoit away."

"You're right. Thank you. And thank you for retrieving my purse," she said when she noticed it on the table.

Carina bowed her head imperiously. "Again, you're welcome." Her posturing dropped away and was replaced by rare, genuine concern when her gaze fell on Sarah's sling. "Are you okay?"

Sarah nodded. "Casey stitched me up. It's pretty sore, but the sling Chuck made for me helps."

"Classy, Bartowski. You're a regular Florence Nightingale," Casey said with a smirk.

"I am," Chuck replied evenly. "I'd even shave you for surgery."

Casey's lip curled up in a snarl. "Pass. I'd rather croak."

Steering the conversation away from becoming a snarkfest, Sarah asked, "Speaking of surgery, Casey, how's Captain Landry?"

"Last I heard he's in recovery. They removed the slug and he's gonna be fine."

"And Benoit's guys?"

"Both should survive. You hit Roland in the shoulder and nicked Beaufort's intestines. Armed guards are on them twenty-four seven," Casey said.

"And what do the Monégasque authorities think happened to Benoit?" Sarah asked. "They have to know it was his yacht by now."

"They're convinced he got away and put an APB out on him. They don't have much to go on, though." Casey stood from his chair and shot a significant look in Chuck's direction. "There was some kind of glitch with the security cameras. The recordings of everything that happened on the beach got dumped. Their eggheads can't seem to figure out what happened."

"Huh. That's a shame," Chuck said drily.

"Yeah. I'm all choked up about it," Casey said, matching Chuck's tone. To Sarah, he said, "Now that you're moved out of that room, Barstow, Vegas and I'll move Benoit there. The three of us will rotate guarding him until Graham gets here. One of us will be in the room with Benoit, one outside the door while the third hits the rack for some shut eye." The major turned to Chuck. "Bartowski, I need you to disable the hotel security camera in that hallway. I don't want them wondering why somebody's standing out in the hall all night."

"On it," Chuck said with a sloppy salute at the big man, which elicited an annoyed grunt and a scowl. Without another word, Casey spun on his heel, marched out the door and slammed it behind him.

"Our Casey always has such a sunny disposition," Carina said, setting off a ripple of snickers amongst the kids. Her gaze traveled from the door Casey had just gone through and settled on Sarah. "The CIA may have Benoit now, but the DEA is gonna want a crack at him, too."

"I'm not surprised. You've been after him for as long as we have."

"This time, we've got the goods on him."

"What?"

"I told the local police that I was undercover DEA investigating Benoit and that we had reason to believe he was smuggling drugs on his yacht. They wanted to help, so they started searching. You'll never guess what they found."

Sarah's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Don't tell me they found drugs on the _Saltair_."

"Yup. About eighty kilos of pure Afghan heroin stashed in one of the holds in the garage. He was transporting the stuff in plastic two liter bottles."

Fred said with a grin, "Now those are some real Coke bottles." The room exploded with groans.

Carina smirked at the teen. "I'm gonna let that one go since I hear you pummeled Benoit pretty good."

Color rose in his cheeks and he dipped his head. "Yeah. I kind of did."

"Hey, Aunt Carina. How much money do you think all those drugs are worth?" Curtis asked.

She pursed her lips, obviously performing some quick mental calculations and then answered, "Between nine and ten million dollars."

Chuck whistled a long tone while gasps and murmurs came from the kids.

"Compliments of our poker friend from last night, Hamid Nazari?" Sarah asked.

"That's what I think," Carina answered. "Different agencies are already on the hunt for him."

From her place on the floor, Martie looked up at Sarah. "We don't have to try to catch him, too, do we?"

Sarah smiled at the exasperation she heard in her niece's voice. "No, sweetie, we don't have to go after him, too. That's up to somebody else."

"Good, 'cause I'm ready to go home."

Sarah knelt down next to Martie and took the girl's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "You know what? So am I."

"Are they done searching the yacht?" Chuck asked Carina. "Is everyone off or do they have guards stationed on it?"

"There's no one on it. Between guarding the prisoners they already have in custody, the manhunt for Benoit, and the investigation and interviews, the local police are stretched so thin, they decided to let it float out there. We found the drugs, you have Benoit's papers and laptop and we didn't find anything else when we picked it clean." Carina shot him a wink and said, "I bet you want to take the missus and sneak onto it for the night, don't you?"

"It's tempting, Carina. Trust me. But we'll be staying right here tonight with the kids." He glanced at his watch and said, "I can't believe you guys aren't begging for food, yet. It's almost dinnertime. I have to cut that security feed for Casey. I also need to speak to your aunt in private for a few minutes."

Sarah felt the heat rise on her face when Carina and the three oldest kids looked at each other and said, "Oooooooo. In private."

He bounced an eyebrow but otherwise, ignored their teasing. "Since we're now the Carmichael family and we don't want to be seen around town, I think we need to get take-out. Do you agree, sweetheart?"

"I do," Sarah said as she stood. "With my arm in a sling, it's sure to draw attention, too, and we don't want that." She didn't say it out loud, but the last thing she wanted to do was go out. She was bone-weary and her arm ached. "Take-out sounds great to me."

He nodded and said to the kids, "How do you feel about having Aunt Carina be in charge of getting dinner for all of us tonight?"

The kids clapped and cheered at the idea. "Anything?" Bridget asked.

"Sure," he answered, "as long as it's dinner and not just dessert or junk food."

Completely taken by surprise, Sarah said, "Chuck, I don't think—"

"Aw, come on, Sarah," Carina said, her eyes sparking. "You don't trust me to pick healthy and nutritious food for your brood?"

"No."

Chuck stepped to stand next to Sarah, slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. With his lips next to her ear, he said in a quiet voice, "The kids have been through a lot today. This'll be a fun diversion for them."

Of course he would think of something wonderful to help the kids. Breathing a sigh, she said in an equally soft tone, "You're right. It's a great idea. You're a pretty smart guy, you know that?"

"That's what you keep telling me." With one arm still around her, he walked her toward their bedroom, pulling her suitcase along with his other hand.

"_Anything_ we want to eat, Chuckie?" Carina called out.

"Yup," he replied and shut the door. Sarah could hear the kids laughing and shouting with excitement.

He led her to the bed, took the pillows and propped them against the headboard. "I want you to put your feet up and relax for a while."

"No argument from me." She sat on the bed, kicked off her sandals, swung her legs up and leaned back against the mound of pillows. "Did you really want to talk to me in private or did you just want me to lay down for a while?"

"Yes," he answered with a smile. He snagged his laptop, stretched out on the bed next to her and set the computer on his lap. "Let me get the cameras off for Casey first."

Sarah closed her eyes and listened to him tap furiously at the keys. The quiet rumble of his voice was soothing and comfortable as he directed his muttered comments toward the camera he was working to turn off, the security people who set up the system, and the subpar state of the hotel's firewall.

She'd begun to doze while he worked, so when he exclaimed, "There!" and punctuated it by slapping the laptop closed, she jerked awake with a start.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said, clearly dismayed that he'd disturbed her. "I didn't know you were asleep."

She sucked in a lungful of air and gusted it out. "It's okay," she said, shaking her head to dislodge the cobwebs the short nap had threaded through her brain. She used her uninjured arm to push herself up farther on the pillows and blinked, trying to clear her blurred vision. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

He hesitated and stared down at his hand, nervously fiddling with his wedding ring. She waited, and when he looked up, his eyes bored into hers. "I want to see Benoit."

His statement didn't come as a big surprise. There were things she knew he needed to say to the man who had made such a huge impact on his life and something he had to do. "Are you sure you want to go through with it?"

He nodded his head resolutely. "I have to do this. He needs to feel some kind of pain, even if it's a fraction of the pain he caused me and my family."

Holding his gaze, she said, "Okay. I'll go with you."

"You don't have to do that. You're tired and hurt." He rested his hand on hers. "You stay here with Carina and the kids and take it easy. I can do this on my own."

"I know, but I want to be there with you. We're better together, remember?"

He smiled and said, "Oh, I remember. Are you sure you're up to it?"

"I'm sure."

~ O ~

It was strange that the hotel room that had been Sarah's Monaco living space until about an hour before was now a very nice, and very expensive, prison cell detaining Henri Benoit, the man she and her team had been searching for all across Europe. To the rest of the world, he was a criminal: a weapons dealer, a drug smuggler, and a money launderer for terrorist groups. To her, it was much more personal. He was the man responsible for so many years lost between Chuck and his parents and between the kids and their grandparents. Because of him, Stephen and Mary even now remained in exile in Russia. And because of him, they had suffered the guilt and anguish over the loss of their daughter and son-in-law alone. Sarah wouldn't lose a minute of sleep over whatever pain Benoit would experience, whatever punishment he would endure, whatever dark and dank hole he ended up in because he deserved it all.

Still dressed in the casual yet elegant clothing he'd worn on the _Saltair_—although now covered in dust and dirt—Benoit sat in one of the chairs with his hands resting on his lap, his wrists handcuffed together. Agent Vegas sat stiffly in another chair across from him, his pistol gripped in his hand at the ready. The room wasn't as bright as it had been when Sarah stayed there since, for security reasons, the drapes hanging in front of the sliding glass door that led to the balcony were drawn closed.

When Chuck and Sarah entered the room, Benoit's eyes lit up and a small smile curled on his lips. "I was hoping to speak with you again before I am to be taken away." He looked past them and his face fell a little when he saw there was no one else with them.

"I'm sorry, Henri," Sarah said, "but Caryn won't be joining us." There was no reason to give Benoit Carina's "real" name.

"That is a shame. Perhaps she can spare a moment later."

"I wouldn't count on it," Chuck said. His words were clipped and his voice was tight. The grip he had on Sarah's hand strengthened, as if clinging to it was the only thing keeping him from being swept away by a rushing river of rage. "Agent Vegas, could you give us a few minutes alone with Mr. Benoit, please?"

Vegas' eyes darted from Chuck to Sarah, wordlessly seeking her approval. When she discreetly nodded her head, he stood and said, "Of course." As he moved past them toward the door, he said, "Major Casey has ordered that the guard in the room with Mr. Benoit be armed. Do you need to borrow my weapon, Agent Walker?"

"No, thank you, Agent Vegas." She might be injured, but that didn't mean she couldn't be well armed. "That won't be necessary."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied and slipped out the door.

Sarah returned her attention to Benoit. Her initial impression was that he didn't seem concerned or rattled about his current predicament. If anything, he seemed rather amused by it all. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked. "Have you come to gloat over capturing the sinister man you blame for your parents' deaths? And that of your sister and her husband?" The humor in his voice vanished. "I told you the truth on the beach. I had nothing to do with any of those deaths."

"Not true," Chuck shot back. "My parents would still be alive if you had let them leave Russia instead of making them work for you by threatening me and my sister."

"You seem to know a lot about what happened with your parents, Chuck," Benoit said. "I suppose you heard this from Dmitri. I am very disappointed that he has turned his back on me after how much I have done for him." His face darkened when he added in a dangerous tone, "He will be sorry he betrayed me. I will take care of him personally."

A bad taste assaulted Sarah's mouth. They needed to get Benoit away from them as soon as possible. She only hoped he seemed more confident than he should have been due to his ignorance of the fact Beaufort, Roland and André were unavailable to rescue him. Still, it wouldn't be long before news of what had happened in Monaco spread and his minions would begin looking for him. "You seem pretty confident you won't remain in custody," she said.

"Your government will not be able to hold me when it will have no evidence that I have committed any crimes," he replied. "I am a simple businessman, wrongly accused." There was no arrogance in his tone. To him, it was obviously nothing more than a statement of fact.

"You already have people on the inside of different agencies with standing orders to destroy any evidence connected to your name, don't you?" Sarah said. Her conjecture was greeted with an impassive stare. It was no wonder Graham wanted to keep what was happening with Benoit close to the vest and take care of his transport personally. The man before her had spies everywhere.

"I can't control what happens to you after you leave here, Benoit," Chuck said. Sarah heard the slightest tremor in his voice as he spoke. She was sure he was using every ounce of self-control not to pounce on Benoit and beat the living hell out of him with his bare fists. Chuck's feet stayed rooted to the floor, but he leaned in toward Benoit when he growled, "And unlike you, you sick bastard, I would never stoop to hurting the people you love to cause you pain." He stared hard at Benoit and added, "If you're even capable of truly loving another person."

"Well, I suppose I have nothing to fear from you, Chuck. You already had the chance to kill me on the beach, yet you let me live. You have the chance to do it again right now and yet you do not. You even tell me now that you will not hurt my friends and family. You are weak."

"No!" Sarah said, her head snapping up in anger. "That makes him stronger than anyone I've ever known."

Benoit's gaze flicked to her rings on the hand dangling from the sling. "So heartwarming, defending your husband. You two remind me so much of Frost and Orion. Two married CIA agents—I assume you both are CIA as well—so much in love. She was always so protective of him." Benoit's eyes turned flinty. "Too bad she could not protect him, or herself for that matter, from my enemies."

Chuck knew the truth–his parents were not dead–and yet she still felt his hand spasm. She knew he wanted to tell Benoit what had really happened to them, to rub his nose in the fact that he'd been duped all these years into thinking they were dead and to prove to him that he wasn't as omnipotent as he believed himself to be. Instead, she watched the muscles in her husband's jaw work as he clenched his teeth. After a moment, she felt him relax and grow still next to her. "I was told how they died."

"Yes, there was an explosion. It was quite grim." His nose twitched as if the acrid air once again filled his nostrils.

"They were on their way to see you on your yacht when their boat exploded," Chuck said. He released Sarah's hand, crossed the room, threw back the drapes and slid open the glass door. "I assume it was a different one than the one moored out in the bay right now?"

"Yes. It was the _El Dorado_. It was a fine vessel, but I needed something larger when I was forced to go into hiding." His head snapped toward Sarah and he stared at her, eyes wide with sudden comprehension. "It was you. _You_ were the one who stole the flash drives. You took them from my safe the night of the party." To her surprise, rather than spewing vitriol at her as she expected, he seemed delighted. He laughed and said, "Well done, my dear. You are surely one of your agency's top operatives."

She stared at him and worked to keep her face inscrutable. She wasn't about to confirm to him that the CIA was in possession of his ledgers, nor was she going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd guessed correctly. Plus, she was positive he was already trying to figure out how to get a message to someone within the agency to find and destroy those flash drives.

Chuck stepped over to Benoit and with a hand under his arm, hauled the Frenchman to his feet. Pulling him out onto the balcony, Chuck said, "It must have been really proud moment for you, when you first stepped onto the _Saltair_. I mean, we've seen a lot of yachts around Monaco the past few days and yours is one of the most, if not _the_ most, impressive out there."

Sarah followed the men outside onto the balcony and stood next to Chuck. Benoit didn't seem to even notice her. His eyes were fixed on the _Saltair_ in the distance, glowing a pale orange in the light of the setting sun.

"I was very proud, no, I _am_ very proud of my beautiful _Saltair_… my home. She is like a matchless and exquisite gem, mined and cut and polished exclusively for me."

Chuck retrieved his phone from his back pocket. He tapped the screen with his thumbs and then, with the phone still in his hand, slid it into his front pocket. "Sounds like you love her more than just about anything else in the world."

It was almost as if Benoit was in a trance as he stared at his yacht and answered in a quiet, reverent tone, "Yes. She embodies everything I love: beauty, power, money, prestige." Snapping out of his reverie, he turned to look at Chuck. Without equivocation, he said, "I will sail on her again. Soon."

"I don't think so," Chuck replied.

Out on the water there was a bright flash, followed by a thundering boom. The _Saltair_ exploded in a roiling fireball of red, orange and black. Chunks of the yacht flew thirty feet into the air and rained down and splashed into the water like hailstones on a lake.

"What… What have you done?" Benoit asked in a voice barely above a whisper, hollow with shock and disbelief.

For a brief moment, the three looked out at the sea in silence as fire engulfed the vessel. The inferno floated on the water like a Viking funeral ship, flames and black smoke billowing into the air.

Casey was the first to burst into the room with his weapon drawn with Vegas and Barstow close on his heels. "What the hell was that?" the major barked. "Where's Benoit?"

"We're out here," Sarah called over her shoulder.

"Well, holy crap," Casey said, coming to stand behind them. Sarah could feel her partner's gaze on first her and then Chuck. "Huh," he grunted. "Is that your tub out there on fire, Benoit?"

The Frenchman, his face slack, slowly nodded his head in response.

Casey slapped Benoit on the back so hard he had to take a step forward to keep from losing his balance. "That's too bad," the big man said, his words laced with sarcasm. He stuck a cigar between his teeth and asked, "Anybody got a light?" Chuckling at his own joke, he clapped Benoit on the back again and turned away.

Behind them, Vegas sang in a soft voice, "Smoke on the water, fire in the sky."

Barstow chimed in with, "Dun, dun, dun. Dun, dun, DAH-dun. Dun, dun, dun. Dun, dun."

"Bummer about your boat, Henri," Chuck said. "There must have been some kind of gasoline leak or something. Or maybe the chef forgot to turn off the stove." He gave Benoit a hard look and said, "It's surprising how easy it is for boats to explode. Kinda ironic for it to happen to yours after it happened to the one my parents were on, too."

"You did this," Benoit growled. The initial shock had passed and now his face was filled with malice when he turned to them and said in a low, threatening tone, "You will be sorry you crossed me. Even if I am in prison, I will make sure my people come after you."

"I doubt that," Sarah replied. "You won't get to make a lot of phone calls from Guantanamo Bay."

"You cannot hold me there," Benoit said, concern edging into his voice. The fear she saw flash in his eyes told her he was obviously rattled by this news. "I am not a terrorist. I have not committed any war crimes."

"We can and will hold you there. Congratulations, Henri. You're what we call a 'high-value detainee,'" she said. "You've been laundering money for terrorist groups targeting the United States. My guess is your laptop will show proof that you've been selling arms to these bad guys, which is also a big no-no."

"And once we get your roster of employees, governments all over the world will be rounding up your people," Chuck added. "They won't be in a position to go after anyone."

"Do not be too pleased with yourselves," Benoit said, his confidence beginning to return. "The files on my laptop are encrypted."

Sarah wanted to laugh out loud, but held back. Chuck, to his credit, kept a straight face when he said, "I heard the government hired a lonely code nerd who wrote some software that can break any encryption. I also heard there was a group of bad guys trying to circumvent it but got caught. Too bad you couldn't get a copy of _that_ code, Henri."

Benoit frowned and narrowed his eyes at Chuck, but remained silent.

Sarah heard sirens in the distance and watched police boats streak across the water toward the burning shell of Benoit's yacht. The police certainly were having a busy day. And so had she and Chuck. Hungry and exhausted and wanting to get back to the kids, she asked, "Are you ready to go, honey?"

"Mm-hmm." To Benoit, he said, "Enjoy your slice of hell on earth."

With that, Vegas took Benoit by the arm, led him inside and sat him down again in his chair. Without looking at Benoit again, Chuck and Sarah filed past him and went out the door. Once in the hall with the door closed behind them, Chuck stopped them both, gently took her in his arms and kissed her. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being okay with me using those tiny, experimental explosives my dad gave me."

"Sweetheart, it was never even a question. I'm just glad they worked."

A proud smile grew on Chuck's face. "That was a pretty big boom. It was way bigger than I thought it would be."

They turned and started down the hallway arms around each other's waists. "I'm sure he'll be happy to know they worked so well."

Chuck laughed. "I'm sure he'll be happy to know they worked at all."

As they rode the elevator toward their suite, she said, "You know it'll be a little while yet before your mom and dad can come home. It might be a month or two."

"Yeah, I know. It's okay. I've waited twenty years, I can wait a little longer." When his stomach growled loud enough for both of them to hear, he said, "I wonder what Carina and the kids came up with for dinner. Pizza maybe?"

Snorting, Sarah said, "That seems too normal for her." They reached the door to the suite. "I guess we're about to find out."

When they walked into the living room, they were immediately assaulted by seven voices shouting at them. "A big boat's on fire!" Megan said, running up to Sarah and hugging her around the waist.

Martie asked, "Did you hear the explosion?"

"That was so cool!" Curtis said. When Bridget scowled at him with disapproval, he rolled his eyes and said in a mechanical tone, "As long as no one got hurt."

From her seat on the couch, Carina raised an eyebrow and said, "It looks suspiciously like Benoit's yacht."

"You know?" Chuck said. "I think it might be."

Sarah tried to pay attention to what was being said, but was distracted by the way her stomach leapt into her throat. "What's that smell?"

"Indian food," Lisa said from her place on the floor next to where Chuck, Sarah and Megan stood. She tore a piece of flatbread off a larger chunk and popped it in her mouth. Holding out the bigger portion toward them, she swallowed and asked, "Want some _naan_?"

"It's really good, Aunt Sarah," Megan said, looking up at her. "It looks like a tortilla, but it's fluffier."

"I think I will. Thanks, Lisa," Sarah answered. She tore some off and immediately felt better as soon as she ate some of the bread. As she stood there, she realized it was the smell of curry that was overpowering her.

"Fred, why is your face all red and sweaty?" Chuck asked. "Are you sick?"

The teen opened his mouth and fanned his hand in front of it, indicating it was on fire.

"Our boy, here, ordered one of the prawn dishes that had three stars by it on the menu. Although by the looks of things, it should have been three fire-breathing dragons," Carina said with a smirk. "Or maybe one big Smaug." At their dropped jaws, she rolled her eyes and said, "You can all close your mouths. I read _The Hobbit_."

Sarah shook her head a little. Her friend was certainly an enigma.

"He hasn't been able to talk since he started eating," Bridget informed them.

"Yeah," Lizzie said. "I think we'll have to feed him extra spicy Indian food from now on so we can have some peace and quiet."

"Ha-ha," Fred managed to croak before he guzzled down some soda.

Megan took Sarah by the hand and pulled her aunt back toward her spot. "You can have some of my turkey chicken. It won't make your mouth burn."

"Turkey chicken?" Sarah asked.

"I think she means Tandoori chicken," Lizzie clarified.

Taking Megan up on her offer, she sat down next to her niece. Once she started eating the chicken, the curry smell didn't bother her as much.

"Aunt Sarah, are we going home to Colorado tomorrow?" Martie asked.

"Probably," she answered. "I need to speak with the director when he gets here to see if the Agency's booked our flight home yet. Are you ready to go home?"

"Mm-hmm. I miss our house," she answered with a nod.

"And Mrs. Smith," Lizzie added.

Curtis chimed in with, "And our backyard."

"I miss our mountains," Bridget said.

Chuck smiled at Sarah. "I miss our balcony."

"I miss all those things, too," Sarah said with sigh. Faces smiled back at her when she said, "There's just one more thing that has to be taken care of and then we can all go home."


	54. Riviera Life

**A/N:** When I started writing this story, I knew, generally, where it was going and had an ending in mind. What I didn't know is that it would end up being double the length I expected it to be and that it would take twice as long to write. Even so, here we are at the penultimate chapter of the longest single story in the Chuck section of this site. Trust me. That was never something I strove to achieve. But I had a story to tell and regardless of length, I told it.

If you will indulge me for a moment... Being in the middle of a very long story is a difficult place to be. There was a time last fall where I began to despair that I would never finish this thing, that it would never end. I knew where I was (finishing up the Berlin arc) and where I wanted to go, but I had so much yet to write. I want to thank my friend and fanfiction shrink, **Frea O'Scanlin,** for the many sessions of "couch time" where she would talk me off the ledge as it were. She assured me I wasn't crazy (well, I kind of am but that's a different story), that it was normal to feel that way and to "just keep swimming." Taking her exhortation to heart, that's exactly what I did. I just kept swimming. Thank you, Frea.

There are so many others I need to thank and will do so next week. In the meantime, I must thank **AgentInWaiting** for beta-ing not only this chapter, but every chapter in this entire universe. Thank you, sir, for your dedication to this world we've created.

Thank you readers, reviewers, etc. I appreciate every one of you and I hope you'll be here next week for the final chapter.

Enough of my musings.

**Chapter 54 – Riviera Life**

The two oldest girls helped the two youngest girls get ready for bed while Chuck made sure the boys had everything they needed for the night in the guys' suite. They'd invited Dmitri to stay there since two of the three agents would be out of the suite throughout the night, and having one more person in the room was a good thing. Plus, he really had no place to stay since he dared not return to the room Benoit had booked for him, so it worked out well.

Lizzie, Lisa and Bridget had been beside themselves with excitement when Carina offered to have the three girls stay with her in her room overnight. Sarah had serious reservations about the idea at first, but when Carina swore up and down they wouldn't end up in jail and used their successful shopping trip as proof of her rarely used responsible side, she relented. It didn't mean that she didn't warn Casey, Barstow and Vegas to keep an eye on Carina's room, though.

Now that Martie and Megan—the suite's only other occupants besides Chuck and Sarah—were asleep, the place was calm and still. Only the faint sound of water spraying from the showerhead in the bathroom down the hall penetrated the quiet.

Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, her unfocused eyes staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Chuck sat next to her, carefully wrapping her injured arm with a plastic bag and securing it with medical tape. "I don't think there's a word that describes how tired I am," Sarah said. "What if I just lay down and sleep in my clothes? That wouldn't be so bad. I really don't need a shower."

"No, you don't _need_ a shower. I told you once I didn't care if you smelled like a dirty sweat sock and I meant it. But I know you'll feel better if you took one."

She knew he was right, but all she wanted to do was sleep. For a year. "Once I'm showered, will you come to bed with me?"

"You have to ask?" he replied with a smile. "I've only been looking forward to this night since we got to Monaco."

"Me, too." Spurred on by the fact that she and Chuck would finally once again be sharing a bed, she perked up and said, "Okay, you got yourself a deal."

He had already removed her sling to waterproof her arm, so he led her to the bathroom and helped her undress. Her entire body felt like a spring slowly uncoiling once she stepped into the shower and the hot water pelted her shoulders and back. She released a low, blissful groan as the steaming water coursed over her weary muscles.

"Are you trying to torture me?" Chuck asked from where he sat on the bathroom counter. "'Cause it's not easy staying on this side of the shower door when you make noises like that."

"Sorry." She snagged the soap and rubbed it over her skin to wash off the grime of the day. "You can join me if you want."

"Oh, trust me, I want. But I think it's better if I stay out here. Or need I remind you that you—among other things—were shot today?"

"It's just a flesh wound," she said, using her best British accent.

He released a deep, tortured moan. "You're killing me." At her chuckle, he added, "You're gonna pay for that later."

"Gladly." She glanced down at the plastic wrapped around her arm and was happy to see that so far, none of the water had leaked onto her dressing.

"Honey? Are you sure you need to meet Graham when he gets here? I mean, you're the walking wounded. Casey, Barstow and Vegas can take care of it."

"I know they can. But I'm the lead agent on this mission and have to see it through to the end. Once Benoit's in the director's custody, I'm done. Until then…"

"I could come with you."

"That's a sweet offer but completely unnecessary. Graham is scheduled to show up around five a.m. and you need to stay here with Martie and Megan. It'll be a quick hand off and since I plan on crawling back in bed with you as soon as Graham and Benoit are on their way, if I'm stealthy enough, you'll never even know I was gone."

"Okay. You coming back to bed will be enough of an incentive for me to stay put."

She turned off the water and by the time she slid the shower door to the side, Chuck stood ready to receive her, his outstretched arms holding up a large bath towel. He took her hand, helped her step over the side of the tub and then gently wrapped her in his arms and the soft, thirsty towel.

She leaned her head on his shoulder and felt every ounce of strength drain away. Numb with exhaustion, it was all she could do to simply stand and not collapse into a heap on the floor.

"Come on," Chuck said, slowly rubbing his hands over the towel to dry her off. "We need to get you into bed." He peeled off the tape, removed the plastic wrap from her arm and checked the dressing to make sure it was dry. After making a noise of approval, he finished drying her skin and helped her put on a pair of panties. "This is just wrong. I'm usually taking these off."

"Who says you won't be?" When he gave her a dubious look, she said, "Well, maybe not tonight."

"Mm-hmm. That's what I thought." He turned and picked up an article of clothing from the counter. "I dug through your suitcase and all of your nighties have to be put on over your head. I didn't want you to have to raise your arm, so I thought maybe this might be easier for you to wear." He held up one of his white dress shirts.

"You're brilliant," she said with a smile and gave him a kiss.

He grinned, clearly pleased with her enthusiastic response. Setting to work, he slid the wounded arm hanging limply at her side into the sleeve. After she slipped her right arm into the other sleeve, he pulled it up over her shoulders and tugged the front together.

Working on one of the buttons, with an amused smile he said, "Again, this is just wrong."

She glanced down and watched his fingers deftly slip the button into its hole and tug it through. He moved his hands down, fastened the next one and then rolled up the sleeves. "There," he said, beaming at her, obviously finished and quite proud of his work.

"You didn't even button _half_ of the buttons," she said, grinning up at him. "You didn't do the top three _or_ the bottom two."

"So? What are you, a nun?"

A burst of laughter erupted and she quickly clamped her hand over her mouth so as not to awaken the sleeping girls. Eyes twinkling, she removed her hand from her face, snaked her arm around his neck and pulled his head down. They shared a scorching, mind-blowing kiss.

When it broke, he didn't move and his eyes—opened to no more than mere slits—were slightly crossed. "You're definitely _not_ a nun."

Smiling, she shook her head, just a little.

He returned her smile and gave her a quick kiss. "I'm glad you're not a nun. Otherwise, the last half hour would have been _really_ awkward."

She snickered and gave his chest a gentle shove with her hand. "Go pull the covers on the bed back while I brush my teeth."

"Yes, my queen," he said, bowing slightly while sneaking a peek at her bare legs. He was barely though the door when the hand towel she tossed at him caught him on the back of the head. Glancing over his shoulder, he bounced his eyebrows twice and then disappeared.

She brushed her teeth, kicked the wet towels into the corner of the bathroom and turned off the light. Padding down the hall toward their bedroom, she stopped to peek in on Martie and Megan and saw that both girls were sleeping soundly. Gazing at the slumbering girls, she thought of how much she'd missed her family when she had to be separated from them. She breathed a quiet sigh and continued on, looking forward to all of them returning to their home in Colorado.

Chuck was already in bed, leaning back on a pile of pillows when she entered their room. Had she not been so weary and recovering from a more-than-annoying bullet wound, she would have sprinted the rest of the way to the bed and leapt onto it like an Olympic high jumper, ready to make up for lost time. But since she was both exhausted and injured, she instead ambled sedately to the edge of the bed and sat down. She was about to slip her legs under the sheet when she noticed two pills and a glass of water sitting on her nightstand.

"They're just Tylenol," Chuck said. "I know you didn't want to take anything stronger than that. I thought it might help take the edge off."

"You're right, sweetheart. Thank you. You take good care of me." After popping both pills in her mouth at once, she chased them down with some water. Then they scooted toward each other and met in the middle of the bed. She leaned back against the mountain of pillows and when Chuck rested his arm behind her, she burrowed into his side.

Now that she was still, the reality of everything that happened that day—and the terrible things that might have been—tried to press in and overwhelm her. Any wayward thoughts, however, were kept at bay by the sheer happiness and relief she felt. Benoit was in custody, the mission was nearly complete and other than the bullet wound to her arm, the knot on Fred's forehead and the lump on the back of Carina's head, everyone was healthy.

"Last night, I promised myself it was going to be the last night I spent away from you and the kids." She closed her eyes and delighted in the way Chuck's fingertips lightly stroked the back of her hand. "And now here I am. After everything that's happened, I can hardly believe it."

"I can. You're the kickass ninja spy who can do anything."

"The kickass ninja spy who had a lot of help from an awesome team, including you." She turned her face toward his. "You were incredible today."

He snorted a half laugh. "I might have looked cool on the outside, but during all the craziness on the yacht, the running commentary in my head alternated between, 'Oh my God, someone is shooting at me,' 'holy crap, holy crap, holy crap,' and 'I think I just wet myself.'"

With a chuckle, she said, "Well, I couldn't tell. You were amazing." She rested her head on his shoulder. "You saved me."

"And you saved me."

The silence stretched as they played with each other's fingers. Finally, she asked in a quiet voice, "After all this—the endless stream of bad guys, the abduction, the bullets, the guns, the bombs—are you sorry you ever got mixed up with a spy?" She knew what his answer would be, but she needed to hear his reassurance.

"Nope, never, not even for a second. You're the best thing that ever happened to the kids and me." He tipped his head to look at her. "After all this—the endless videogame tournaments, the lost Barbie, the teasing, the flicking, the poking—are you sorry you ever got mixed up with a nerd with seven kids?"

"Nope, never, not even for a second. You and the kids are the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I guess we're perfect for each other." He reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

She sighed and they both slid down to lie flatter on the bed. "I guess we are." After sharing a sweet goodnight kiss, it wasn't long before fatigue overwhelmed the dull throbbing in her arm. She fell asleep in the only place she wanted to be, warm and safe and wrapped in her husband's arms.

~ O ~

It was four-thirty and Sarah was already awake when her phone buzzed, alerting her that she had just received a text message. In fact, sleep had eluded her for the better part of the previous hour. The Tylenol had worn off and while the pain in her arm wasn't as searing and acute as it had been earlier, it was still more than enough to end her sleep.

With her good arm, she picked up her phone from the bedside table and read Barstow's text. The director's plane was about to land in Nice and he would soon be on his way to Monaco via helicopter. He would be at the hotel in about thirty minutes.

It was still dark outside when Sarah shimmied out from under Chuck's arm draped across her, pushed herself up into a sitting position and dangled her legs off the side of the bed. Even though it was her arm that had been shot and still hurt like hell, her entire body was stiff and sore. She felt like road kill. It didn't matter. She had to get up and be there to hand Benoit over to Graham. Hopefully, getting up and moving around would help to loosen up her aching body.

She slowly made her way down the hall to the bathroom, flipped the switch and squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden burst of blinding light. After a minute, she opened them enough to squint at herself in the mirror. No wonder she felt like road kill. She certainly looked like it. Her face was pallid, there were dark circles under her eyes, her hair was a mess and her stomach was in her throat again. The thing was, she didn't care. In an hour or so, she'd be back in bed and with a few more hours of sleep, she knew she'd look and feel a hundred percent better.

Until then, though, she had to keep going. She splashed some cold water on her face, helping to clear away the cotton in her brain. When she tried to raise her left arm to put her hair in a ponytail, however, it felt as if her stitches were ripping open like a busted seam. Deciding that her hair didn't need to be up after all, she ran a brush through it and called it good.

Given the limited use of her arm, she wasn't sure how she was going to get dressed. She slowly walked back toward the bedroom and tried to decide if anyone would mind if she simply wore Chuck's dress shirt—buttoning a couple more buttons—and a pair of jeans. She definitely would need to put her sling on again, too.

Musing over her clothing issues, it surprised her when she arrived back in their bedroom to find a dim, yellow glow coming from the bedside lamp and Chuck, looking sleepy and rumpled and so very sexy, sitting up.

"Chuck, I'm sorry. I was hoping I wouldn't disturb you."

"No, I wanted to wake up. I knew you'd need help getting dressed and stuff." He rubbed a hand over his face and asked, "How's your arm?"

"It hurts, but not as much as last night. Still doesn't work very well, though."

He nodded, jumped out of bed and got her a couple more pain relievers to take, which she did without hesitation.

Once she swallowed down the capsules, she made a sour face and put a hand on her abdomen. "I don't think that Indian food agreed with me."

"Maybe you're just still really tired. Do you still want to meet with Graham?"

"Yeah, I'll be okay. Can you help me get dressed?"

"Of course," he said and kissed her cheek. "I'll even undress you when you get back."

"Deal," she said and pecked his lips with hers.

With her husband's help, it wasn't long before she was dressed and her arm was back in its sling. She stuck her Smith & Wesson in the waistband of her jeans while Chuck walked her to the door and opened it for her. She was about to step into the hall when she rose up on her tiptoes and gave him a long, slow kiss. When it ended, she said in a voice barely above a whisper, "Keep the bed warm."

A rumble came from deep inside his chest. When he nodded, the tiny smile gracing his lips and his warm, brown eyes gazing into hers successfully turned her insides into mush. She nearly growled, "To hell with this damned mission _and_ my ripped up arm," and hauled him back to bed. The realization that she would be with him again in an hour or so—hopefully Martie and Megan would still be asleep—was the only thing that kept her from following through. Instead, they kissed once more and exchanged "I love you"s before she started down the hall.

The walk from their suite to her former room did wonders for her aching body. By the time she reached the room where Benoit was being held, the stiffness she'd felt when she first got out of bed had disappeared. This made her happy as it bode well for the activities she had planned for her and Chuck later.

"Good morning, Agent Walker," Vegas said in a quiet voice. He rose from his chair stationed next to the door. "How's your arm?"

"A little better, thank you. What's the ETA on Graham?"

"Agent Barstow is currently driving him here from the heliport. They should be here in less than ten minutes."

She leaned her back against the opposite wall from where Vegas stood and faced him. "Good. Did you get any sleep?"

"We each got a couple of hours."

She tipped her head toward the door. "How's Benoit been?"

"He seems pretty relaxed. I get the feeling he thinks either he'll never get to Gitmo, or if he does, he won't stay there very long."

"He basically said the same thing to Chuck and me when we talked to him last night. He might believe he's in a better position than he really is, or he might know something we don't." The second part of her statement made her nervous. "We need to keep our eyes peeled."

"Yes, ma'am. Benoit will remain handcuffed during his transport through Monaco to the heliport. Major Casey will drive while Barstow and I sit on either side of him in the backseat."

"The director has men waiting at the heliport ready to secure Benoit?"

"Yes, ma'am. They flew in from D.C. with him," he informed her with a nod.

"Good."

Vegas paused and gave her a significant look. "Benoit asked to speak with Agent Miller."

Sarah snorted. "He asked us about her, too. Maybe he thinks he can turn her to the dark side."

"His codename _is_ Palpatine," he pointed out.

"Good point," she replied, chuckling. "Did you tell Carina he wanted to see her?"

"I did. Major Casey and Agent Barstow tossed me into that lion's den alone."

"Bonus points for surviving. I can just imagine what her response was."

His tried to suppress a smirk. "You'd be proud of her. Since Lizzie, Lisa and Bridget were there for their girls' night, she held back on the profanity."

"I'm impressed. And relieved."

"She did tell me, though, to let Benoit know that if he ever came anywhere near her again, she'd shove the burning remains of his precious yacht so far up his digestive tract, his burps would set his beard on fire."

Sarah snickered and felt surge of affection for her friend. "Did you tell Benoit that?"

"I did," Vegas answered. "He tried to brush it off as no big deal, like he didn't care if she didn't want to see him. But I think it hurt him as much as his yacht blowing up did."

"I'm not sorry to hear that at all." She was about to try and gain some intel from him on how the girls' night had been going when he went to speak with Carina, but when the elevator dinged, she knew it would have to wait. Both turned and were standing at attention when Director Graham and Agent Barstow came around the corner and strode toward them.

As Graham neared, he put his hand out toward Sarah and said, "Agent Walker, it's good to see you."

Shaking his hand, she answered, "Thank you, sir. It's good to see you, too."

His gaze lowered to her sling. "I was sorry to hear you were injured. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, thank you. The bullet just grazed me and Major Casey did a fine job of stitching it up."

"Glad to hear it." The director turned to Vegas and shook his hand. "Agent Vegas."

"Director Graham," Vegas said with a nod.

Graham looked around the hall and then returned his gaze to Sarah. "Mr. Bartowski's not here? I wanted to congratulate all of you, including him, on a job well done. You all have done the Agency proud."

"Thank you, sir," Sarah said. "I'll be sure to pass your compliments on to him. I'm sorry he couldn't be here, but he needed to remain in our room with our two youngest. And yes, Chuck has been brilliant throughout this entire mission. I can't even begin to tell you how smart and brave and selfless he is. He and I are definitely better when we're together."

"Yes, I'm sensing that to be true," he replied with a quirked eyebrow.

"And may I add, Director, it has been an honor to work with Agents Barstow and Vegas. I must commend them for their professionalism, bravery, diligence and readiness to do anything and everything we asked of them. We couldn't have done it without them. Or Major Casey. Words cannot express how important he is to me, my family and this team. We all heavily relied on him during the entirety of this mission."

"And where is the major?" the director asked.

"He's inside with Benoit," Vegas replied, indicating the room behind the door.

"Sir, I also want to stress that we would have never captured Benoit without Agent Miller's assistance," Sarah added. "She was instrumental in getting us close to him and deserves a lot of the credit."

"I'm glad to know that. I'll be sure the head of the DEA hears of her value on this mission. Has she already left Monaco?"

"No, sir. She's still here in the hotel. She's looking after our three oldest girls overnight."

Graham's eyebrows shot up. "From what I know of Agent Miller, that's a bit of a surprise."

"The kids are very fond of her and I think she enjoys being around them more than she'll admit," Sarah said. Barstow, still standing behind Graham, smiled and nodded his agreement. "There's also one more person who deserves recognition for helping us arrest Benoit. His name is Dmitri Brusilov and he worked, until yesterday, for Benoit." When Graham's brow furrowed, Sarah hastily added, "He's been working from the inside to try to take Benoit down for years, at great risk to himself and his family. He assisted us in Moscow and again here in Monaco." She swallowed hard and plunged ahead. "I know I might be out of line, sir, but as he essentially put himself out of a job to help us, I was wondering if there was some way we could help him and his family. Perhaps he could get a job with the Agency in some capacity, either in Russia or if he'd be willing, move his family to the United States."

"I'll see what I can do. Is he here at the hotel as well?"

"Yes, sir." The corner of her mouth twitched upwards. "He's watching our two boys while Casey, Barstow and Vegas have been guarding Benoit."

Graham smiled, which was a rarity. "Those children of yours seem to pull everyone in, don't they?"

"Yes, they do," she said, pride surging through her. "They've been through a lot during this trip and deserve some recognition of their own. They were as much a part of this team and its success as any of the rest of us."

"She's right, sir," Barstow said. "They absolutely were."

"Having met your children before, I'm not surprised by this at all," Graham replied. "I wish I could meet with and thank your entire, extended team personally, before your flight back to the States this afternoon, but that will have to wait for another time." He turned and looked expectantly at Vegas. "We have the more pressing matter of getting Mr. Benoit to Guantanamo Bay."

"Yes, sir," Vegas said. He slipped a card key into the slot and opened the door. Graham entered first, followed by Sarah and Barstow. Vegas remained on duty in the hall and closed the door once the three were inside.

Graham shook Casey's hand. "Major Casey, job well done. Agent Walker informed me how critical you are to this team. I'll be sure to inform General Beckman of your well-deserved praise."

"Thank you, sir," Casey said and threw his shoulders back. "It's an honor to be part of such a fine team."

From his chair, Benoit—his restrained hands resting on his lap—eyed the director and asked, "Who are you? Another agent who has come to harass me, an innocent businessman?"

"My name is Langston Graham. I am the director of the United States Central Intelligence Agency," he said, stretching to his full height and peering down at Benoit. "I'm here to personally escort you to the cell waiting for you in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba."

"Your government will be terribly embarrassed when it becomes known that an innocent man such as I was sent away like a common terrorist," Benoit said. He seemed to be filled with bravado and his tone was threatening. But behind his eyes, Sarah saw real fear. As if in a last ditch effort to somehow stop his banishment to Gitmo, Benoit looked at Sarah and said, "She and that husband of hers. They blew up my yacht, right in front of me. They must be punished for the destruction of private property!"

Graham's eyebrows rose with interest. "I was unaware of this." He turned to Sarah and asked, "Mr. Benoit's yacht was destroyed?"

Her gaze unwavering, she looked Graham right in the eyes and answered, "Yes. Completely."

"This is most unfortunate. Do the local authorities know what caused the explosion?" he asked.

"I have no idea, sir. It did sustain some damage during the shootout when we were trying to apprehend Mr. Benoit. We think perhaps there was a gasoline leak that accidentally ignited."

Graham nodded his head thoughtfully. "You never know about these things. I'm sure the Monégasque police will do a fine job of investigating the incident. We'll let them handle it."

She gave her boss a smart nod. "Yes, sir."

"My beautiful ship is lost and that is all you have to say?" Benoit's voice was filled with a mixture of ire and incredulity.

"Come on, Benoit," Casey said while the rest ignored his question. "Let's go." The major gripped the Frenchman by the arm, hauled him to his feet and gave him a shove on the back to get him walking. The cadre walked down the hall, Barstow and Vegas flanking Benoit on either side in front with the other three close behind. After a quick elevator ride they trooped through the lobby and out the front doors of the hotel.

As dawn rapidly approached, the skies had lightened from black to gray. Sarah drew in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the sea as the fresh air filled her lungs.

The car that had ferried Graham from the heliport was parked in the valet drop-off area at the front of the hotel, waiting to make its return trip. When they neared the vehicle, Casey split off from the rest of the group and strode toward the driver's side.

Sarah's head snapped toward the sound of a roaring car engine. A black sedan careened through the turnaround and screeched to a stop. A pistol was thrust out the open window.

"Gun!" Sarah shouted. She leapt toward Graham and, despite their size difference and her injury, tackled him to the ground. Excruciating pain seared through her arm and her vision blackened at the edges as she gasped in pain. Four ear-splitting gunshots shattered the morning's peace. Then engine raced again and tires chirped. Sarah pushed herself up from where she was sprawled across Graham and looked over her shoulder in time to see the shooter's car speed off.

Casey, gun in hand, stood with feet spread and fired off two shots at the retreating car. When it continued to race away, he yanked his vehicle's door open and jumped in behind the wheel.

Sarah scrambled to her feet and looked down at her boss.

"I'm not hit! We've got Benoit. Go!" Graham shouted at her.

She spun around and raced past Barstow, Vegas and Benoit piled in a heap on the ground. She saw blood, but didn't know who it belonged to. Grabbing the handle, she jerked the car door open, dove into the passenger seat and slammed it shut as Casey cranked the ignition.

The second the car turned on, the interior was filled with music. Guitars played as a male voice wailed, "Can't you see? Can't you see? What that woman, Lord, she been doin' to me."

"What the hell is that?" Sarah barked as she twisted around to the grab the seatbelt. Before the car vaulted forward, she saw Vegas sit up. She turned forward again, slid the upper part of the restraint under her sling and jammed the buckle into the slot mere seconds before Casey's violent U-turn pressed her right shoulder against the door.

"Barstow drove this thing last. Must be his CD," Casey growled in response. "He likes Southern rock."

They raced away from the hotel and reached the end of the parking lot in time to see the red taillights of the shooter's car disappear around a corner.

"Well, hell!" Casey bellowed as he cranked the steering wheel. The back tires screamed and slid as they made their turn behind their quarry.

Sarah smashed the on/off button of the car's audio system with a balled up fist, cutting off the singer mid-lament. Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she asked, "Did you see the shooter?"

"It was Zuyev. I saw him when he stopped."

Sarah muttered a curse under her breath. "That guy is a real pain in my ass. If he was trying to save Benoit, he didn't do a very good job of it."

Casey gave their car some more gas on a short, straight stretch of road in an attempt to get closer to Zuyev's. "Where the hell does he think he's going?" he groused. The Russian was leading them up the mountain on roads that were rapidly becoming more and more twisting, curving and steep.

"My guess is he has no idea." She tapped the screen of her phone and held it to her ear. It rang a number of times and went to voicemail. Jamming her thumb against the screen, she ended the call and placed it again. After several more rings, an angry and gravelly voice on the other end growled, "Walker, your hair better be on fire for you to be calling me right now."

"Zuyev did a drive by at us in front of the hotel. Graham's okay and I think Vegas is, too, but Barstow and Benoit were both still down when Casey and I took off after him."

Carina released a torrent of expletives. "I'm on it."

"Take the girls to Chuck's and my suite on your way downstairs."

"Copy." The call ended.

She was about to call Chuck—who she noted had already called her six times in the last two minutes—when his picture appeared on her phone's screen. She put the phone to her ear, but before she could utter a word, his panicked voice blasted through the tiny speaker. "Sarah! Is that you? Are you okay? Sarah!"

"Chuck!" she shouted. "It's me. I'm fine."

She imagined him collapsing against the pillows in relief, the kind of relief she now heard in his voice. "I thought I heard gunshots and when you didn't answer... Are you really okay?"

"I really am. Listen. Zuyev shot at us out in front of the hotel and there was blood. Graham, Casey and I are all okay, and probably Vegas. Not sure about Barstow and Benoit. Carina's on her way there now, but first she's gonna drop the girls off with you." She pressed her feet against the floorboards to stabilize herself as the car careened around a particularly nasty turn. "Zuyev might be doing all this solo, but just in case, you get Dmitri and the boys over to our suite, too. And stay there."

"Okay."

"And Chuck! Get your tranq pistol, just in case."

"Roger that," he said with grim resolve.

When she heard the sound of what she presumed to be Carina pounding at the door, she said, "I'll check back with you in a few."

He was obviously on the move when he said, "We'll be fine. I love you."

The tops of tall evergreen trees—their roots in the steep slope far below—flashed past her side of the car as they rocketed up the road. It was a good thing it was so early in the morning and few cars were out. She braced herself for another hard turn as they approached a twist in the road. "I love you, too." The call ended and she stuck the phone between the seat and her thigh.

Thanks to Casey channeling his inner Formula One driver, they were closing in on Zuyev. Sarah put the window down and took out her Smith & Wesson. At her first opportunity, she'd fire off a couple of rounds to get Zuyev's attention.

She glanced over at her partner. His jaw was set and his eyes were intense and piercing, like a bald eagle on the hunt. His entire body was fully engaged as he navigated the dangerously twisting and turning roads above Monaco. Facing forward again, she kept her eyes pinned on the car ahead and tried not to think about the precipice on the other side of the guardrail.

When Zuyev took a right-handed hairpin just ahead of them, she stuck her gun out the window and squeezed off two shots at the side of his car. The front passenger window shattered and the car swerved to the left. It nearly crashed into the sheer rock face that shot straight up on the other side of the road.

Coming from the other direction, a car barreled around a blind corner ahead and blasted its horn at Zuyev in warning. The Russian's car jerked back in the other direction. Casey slammed on their car's brakes and it skidded to a stop as the other car flashed in front of them. They could only watch as Zuyev's now out-of-control car bounced over the foot-tall wall of gray, blocked stones at the edge the road and sail down into the abyss. A few seconds later the sickening sound of crunching, twisting metal came from below. There was one final resounding crash at the same time a large tree shuddered and vibrated.

And then there was silence.

~ O ~

Sarah drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, savoring the scent of the sea the late afternoon breeze carried into the suite's living room. She shifted a little to settle deeper into Chuck's embrace, his arm encircling her shoulders as they sat together on the couch. She made sure, however, not to move too much since Megan was snuggled up against her on her other side. By the same token, the little girl was careful not to bump Sarah's injured arm still in its sling.

Lisa sat cross-legged on the couch next to her youngest sister. "Are you sure Agent Barstow's going to be okay?" she asked, her eyebrows pulled together with concern.

"Mm-hmm. He was already beginning to wake up from his surgery when we saw him," Sarah replied. "He'll be in some pain at first, but he'll be up and around in no time."

"I'm sure Aunt Carina will take good care of him," Bridget said with a smirk.

Sarah bit her lower lip and pressed her shoulder into Chuck's side when he whispered into her ear, "I bet she will. Two words: sponge bath."

"Yeah," Lisa said, grinning back at her sister. "She kinda talked about him a lot during our girls' night last night, didn't she?"

Both Bridget and Lizzie snickered and nodded.

Sarah filed that interesting tidbit of information away. "She did say she'd stay with him until he's released from the hospital, probably tomorrow or the next day," she said.

"Poor Scott," Chuck said, his eyes flashing with humor. "He survived taking a bullet to upper chest, but is gonna likely expire when Carina drives him back to the hotel in that Ferrari."

"But what a way to go!" Fred said with a cheeky grin.

Laughter rippled through the room.

"So you think Zuyev was afraid Benoit was going to give him up for a plea deal and killed him to keep him quiet?" Lizzie asked.

"That's our guess," Sarah answered. The Frenchman hadn't fared as well as Barstow, taking three to the chest and dying on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. "We think Zuyev knew the incriminating evidence on Benoit's computer was encrypted and assumed no one would come across his name that way. But if Zuyev thought Benoit would get a deal by giving up his associates, including him, he must have thought it was the only thing he could do. Otherwise, his only other option would be to give up everything in his life, change his name and go into hiding. He was filthy rich and proud of it. He'd only give up everything as a last resort."

"The guy wasn't playing with a full deck in the first place, anyway," Casey said, firmly ensconced in an armchair. He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "We'll never know why for sure, though, since the guy assumed room temperature at the bottom of that ravine."

"What's that mean?" Martie asked, looking up at Casey from her place by his chair on the floor.

"It means he's dead," Fred informed his sister.

Sarah noticed when Martie's eyes widened. "Oh," the little girl said in a small voice. She and Chuck would have to keep eye on her—and all the kids for that matter—to make sure the events of the last few days hadn't traumatized them too severely. It was well established they were resilient, but they were still just kids and they had seen and been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. No, she realized, that wasn't even close to being right. It was more like the last four weeks. The last two weeks had been especially challenging for them: first her and Casey having been kidnapped in Prague, then finding and quickly having to leave their grandparents in Moscow and finally everything that had occurred in Monte Carlo. Even with all that had happened so recently, their usual teasing and banter flew back and forth at each other across the room. It comforted her to see them, despite it all, doing so well.

"How did Zuyev even know where Benoit was?" Lizzie questioned. "Or that he'd been captured?"

Director Graham, who sat relaxing in the armchair across from Casey, looked Sarah's way and raised his eyebrows. She saw a hint of amusement flash in his dark eyes. It was clear he was impressed by the tenacious and inquisitive teen.

Sarah gave her boss a knowing smile and then answered her niece's question. "Benoit hadn't been reported dead, wasn't in the hospital or in police custody, so Zuyev had to assume he either escaped or was captured by Sarah Irving."

"When checking on Benoit's status, he would have heard about the rest of Benoit's team being taken out of commission," Chuck said. "That left Zuyev as Benoit's only hope of help."

The director added, "And since Zuyev never got a call from Benoit, he assumed Benoit had been apprehended."

"But would Zuyev think Benoit would have asked him for help, knowing he was the one that had blown it for him?" Lizzie asked, squinting at the director.

"Yes," the director answered, holding her gaze. "If he knew he had no other choice, he would have. Don't forget it was Zuyev who blew Agent Walker's cover in the end."

"How did he know Benoit was here at this hotel, though?" the teen asked.

"Benoit knew which hotel Caryn Mitchell and Sarah Irving were staying at," Sarah replied. "Zuyev had been staying with Benoit on his yacht, so he would have known, too. Given everything that had happened, he had to believe Sarah Irving had detained Benoit. Her hotel was the logical place for him to go."

"I suppose I should have insisted Benoit be taken to a safehouse last night," Graham said.

"I don't think it would have made any difference, sir," Sarah said. "I have the feeling Zuyev was staking out the hotel since yesterday evening, hoping he guessed right and that Sarah Irving wouldn't have already taken Benoit someplace else. He was willing to wait for a while. And he guessed right. He just didn't know he would be facing off with the CIA this morning."

"At least we don't have to worry about Benoit coming after—" Curtis slapped his hand over his mouth. Clearly mortified, his rounded eyes darted between Graham and his aunt.

Sarah chuckled and smiled at her nephew. "It's okay, Curtis. I was about to bring that subject up with the director." Next to her, she felt Chuck flinch. With her hand already resting on Chuck's thigh, she gave it a reassuring pat.

A hush fell over the room and it stilled, like the eerie calm that settled in the trees before an earthquake.

Director Graham tilted his head. "Agent Walker?"

"I'm sure you remember Chuck and me telling you when we were in Prague that we found out that Agents Frost and Orion had been killed," she said.

"Yes, I read your report as well. They were killed by Benoit in a boat explosion."

All eyes were on her when she shook her head. "Actually, they're not dead. We found them alive and well and hiding out in Moscow."

Gazes moved from her to Director Graham when he bolted upright in his chair. "What?"

"Yes, sir." She, along with the help of her husband and the seven children, spent the next twenty minutes recounting to the director the rather circuitous way in which the Bartowski family was reunited. They briefed him on Dmitri's long-time friendship and alliance with Mary and Stephen and how he had helped them fake their deaths so Benoit would leave Chuck and the kids alone. The director's eyebrows shot up to the middle of his forehead when they explained how Dmitri—on behalf of the very much alive Frost and Orion—had kidnapped Sarah and Casey in Prague and then lied to them about Frost's and Orion's deaths in order to get them off their trail. Graham shook his head in wonder when Sarah told him about recognizing Mary and Stephen later at the _Call of Duty_ tournament in Moscow. Finally, Sarah and Casey informed him that it had been Dmitri who had assisted them on the mission in Moscow when they extracted Benoit's location from Pavel Zuyev. "We're hoping now that Benoit is dead and his threat removed, they'll be free to return to the United States," Sarah said, finishing the story.

"I'm sure something can be arranged. I'll work with the State Department on that as soon as we get back the States." Graham set his gaze on Sarah. "I'm a little disappointed that once you found Frost and Orion alive, you kept this information from me." She opened her mouth to defend her decision, but before she could say anything, he added, "But given the circumstances, you made the right call."

Releasing a relieved breath, she said, "Thank you, sir."

The director turned to Dmitri, who had remained completely silent the entire time. "Agent Walker informed me earlier this morning that you were a great help in capturing Benoit. Until now, however, I had no idea just extensive your role in all of this really was. I thank you, Dmitri, not only personally, for assisting us in the arrest of Henri Benoit, but on behalf of the Central Intelligence Agency. It is a comfort to know that two of our agents had an ally like you protecting and assisting them over these many years."

"You are welcome, Director Graham," Dmitri answered with a dip of his head. "I am pleased to know that my friends' mission, one that began so many years ago, is finally complete and that they can now leave Russia to return home."

"I'm sure I can do something for you and your family, Dmitri, if you would like."

"Yes, Director Graham," Dmitri said. "I, my family and I, would like that very much. Thank you."

"No, Dmitri. Again, from what I just heard, it is I who should be thanking you."

Relieved smiles grew on every face in the room, even Casey's.

The sense of joy and relief and happiness that flooded through Sarah completely overwhelmed her. Tears raced down her cheeks. It was finally, _finally_, over.

Chuck squeezed her and kissed the side of her head. "You did it," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Shaking her head, a quiet, halting laugh bubbled up as she brushed her cheeks with her fingers. "No, not me. We. We did it. All of us. Together."

She felt Chuck's face, still buried in her hair, nod and kiss her again.

Megan patted Sarah's leg to get her attention. "Does that mean Grandma and Grandpa will be in Colorado when we get home?"

Reaching across the arm still in its sling, Sarah touched her fingertip to her niece's nose. "Sorry, kiddo. It will be a little while yet." When Megan's lower lip stuck out and she crossed her arms across her chest with a "humpf," Sarah said, "You know what, though? Now _we_ get to go home." The sour face vanished in an instant.

"Speaking of getting back to the States," Casey said, "with us having to spend the day mopping up the Benoit mess, we missed our flight."

Sarah sighed and dropped her head back against Chuck's shoulder. "I guess I need to get the Agency on the phone and see what they can do for us."

"That won't be necessary, Agent Walker," Graham said. "You, your family and team—including Agents Miller and Barstow—will fly back with me on my airplane."

Sarah's head jerked up. "What? Carina, too?"

"Yes. I spoke with the director at the DEA today and after hearing my report of her exemplary work on this mission, he has approved her return to the States for a little rest and relaxation, starting immediately."

"I'm sure she'll be thrilled, sir," Sarah replied, trying to keep the shock from her voice. "On her behalf, I thank you. Your offer to fly us home is very generous, Director, but including Carina, there are thirteen of us. Can your plane accommodate that many people?"

"And all our luggage?" Chuck added.

"Yes." When he didn't elaborate, she wondered what kind of plane it was. But if it got everyone home, it didn't really matter. She'd sit next to a tank in the back of a C-130 if she had to.

"What if Agent Barstow isn't released from the hospital tomorrow after all?" Lisa asked. "We can't leave without him and Aunt Carina."

"No, we won't leave until we're sure he has recovered sufficiently to travel," Graham said. "I think it's the least we can do for him."

Lizzie narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. He was one of the most intimidating people employed by the United States federal government, but the kids—while respecting the man—certainly didn't fear him. Major John Casey of the NSA had been a part of their lives for past year. After him, they could handle anyone. "You mean you want to just hang out and live the Riviera life for a few days?"

"I don't 'hang out,'" he replied in a gruff voice accompanied by an eyebrow arching high up his forehead. "I do, however, eat. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. I think it's time to go and do just that."

There were cheers and happy shouts of agreement from the kids.

When the room quieted down, Chuck swung his arm over Sarah's head and picked up his phone. "There's one thing I'd like to do before we go out."

The kids nodded and watched him with shining eyes and held breaths as he touched the phone's screen. Sarah laced her fingers with Chuck's as he held the phone to his ear. The entire room waited for an answer at the other end.

He squeezed her hand and sat forward. "Hello, Dad? It's… it's me... Chuck," he said, his words catching in his throat. "I called to let you know… It's time for you and Mom to come home."


	55. Only the Beginning

**A/N:** So here we are. We've arrived at the end of this story. I'm sure many of you never thought I'd get here. There were times I wasn't so sure I would. (I've "ruined" a song over on my blog that puts my "struggles" to music. Go check it out.) And yet, here we are. Thank you for persevering to the end and traveling the journey with this family and me. Thank you for the time you invested in reading a 500,000 word story. I'm grateful and humbled.

I'm so appreciative to all of you who wrote heartfelt and encouraging reviews. I wish I could list here all of the wonderful readers who did so chapter after chapter, but in an embarrassment of riches, there are many and I'd hate to miss a single one of you. You know who you are. No words can express how much each one of you means to me.

I can't even begin to give enough of my thanks to **AgentInWaiting** for his part in all of this. He selflessly poured over every word, every sentence, every paragraph. He challenged me. He found plot holes that had to be addressed and made story suggestions that were sometimes accepted, sometimes rejected (sorry about shooting down the CAT Squad idea). He made brilliant song suggestions, like the one in this final chapter. No matter what, all of his hard work was done with an eye to crafting the best story possible. Neil, you are appreciated more than you know.

I also want to thank my wonderful husband, Mr. Q, for always being so supportive of me and this writing thing I do. And thanks to my fabulous daughter, Lil Q, for putting up with a mom who is a half-bubble off level.

Will I return to this universe? I hope so. I really do. I love the characters that have occupied my brain for the past two years and would love to tell more of their story. Truth is, though, right now I'm fried. After some time off, hopefully they will be back.

And now, as the story comes to a close, my figurative guitar case is open. I'd be much obliged if you would drop a review into it. Thanks.

**Chapter 55 – Only the Beginning**

Sarah stood and nervously fingered one of the charms on her bracelet as she watched a woman in a flowing black robe enter the courtroom through a side door and take her seat. "Please, be seated," the Honorable Patricia J. Dwyer said absently and without looking up.

The room was filled with rustling clothes and scuffling feet as everyone did as directed. Sarah's mouth went dry as she watched the judge shuffle papers on her bench. Chuck smiled encouragingly at her, reached over and took her hand in his. His warm and comforting touch helped calm her as the courtroom clerk announced the matters and case numbers.

Once the opening procedures were completed, Judge Dwyer looked up from her desk and when she smiled, her whole face lit up. In her mid-forties, she wore her long, honey blonde hair loose around her shoulders and sported a healthy tan. Sarah guessed she was an avid outdoorsperson when she wasn't working. It seemed that everyone in Colorado biked, skied and hiked. "Mr. Bartowski, it's a lovely surprise to see you and the Woodcomb children back in my courtroom under these circumstances." Her eyes swept over the row of children sitting to the left of Sarah behind a long table and said, "You all have grown up so much since I saw last you here a couple of years ago."

Each of the kids nodded and smiled. Sarah glanced over at them in their best clothes for their day in court. Fred and Curtis had even agreed to wear neckties since they were getting the afternoon off from school.

When Sarah turned to face forward again, she saw that the judge's face had grown serious and her eyes were pinned on her. "Will the petitioner please stand and raise your right hand?"

She did so and the judge rattled off, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do." In her ears, her voice sounded much more confident than she felt. Chuck had assured her there was no reason to be worried, but she couldn't help the nervousness that came over her. Until the gavel fell and the Final Decrees of Adoption were signed by the judge, she knew the knot in her stomach wouldn't go away.

"You may have a seat again, Mrs. Bartowski," Judge Dwyer said and turned her attention to the man beside Chuck. "Mr. King, do you have some paperwork for me?"

Their lawyer sprang from his chair and replied, "I do, Your Honor." He grabbed the stack of papers from the table and strode to the bench. After the forms were handed to the judge, the two conferred in low tones.

Next to Sarah on her other side, Megan sighed, fingered a button on the front of her dress and started to swing her feet back and forth. The little girl was already bored and the hearing had barely begun. Sarah snuck a glance at the judge and seeing that she was still in conference with their lawyer, picked up her purse and set it in her lap. Digging through it, she found a small notepad and pen and handed them to Megan. Her niece gasped at the sudden appearance of something that would save her from her boredom and grinned her thanks. She snatched the items eagerly, flipped the notepad open to a blank page and began to draw.

Sarah returned the purse to the floor just as Mr. King returned to his chair.

"Mrs. Bartowski, for the formal court proceedings, and because I'm dying of curiosity," Judge Dwyer said with a smile, "please tell the Court how you came to be a part of this family."

"Certainly, Your Honor," she replied as she began to stand.

Waving her hand, the judge said, "Please, you can stay seated."

"Thank you." Sarah took a deep breath and began. "In July of last year, I was hired by the company that employs a certain software developer to be the live-in nanny to his seven children. He was trying to juggle the responsibilities of work and taking care of his seven kids alone. The stress was taking a toll on everyone and his work on an important project was suffering." Sarah couldn't stop a smile. "It wasn't long before I fell in love with the kids and their uncle."

"And how long have you and Mr. Bartowski been married?"

"It will be a year the end of next month."

"It must be quite challenging to be newlyweds with seven children in the house."

"Actually, it's wonderful. I can't imagine it being any other way."

Judge Dwyer clasped her hands and dropped them on her desk with a thump. Tilting her head, she asked, "What makes you want to legally adopt these seven children?"

"They're my kids," Sarah said without hesitation. She held the judge's gaze and searched her mind for words that would elaborate, but found she had nothing else to say. It was as simple as that. They were her kids.

The other woman studied her for a moment and then nodded as if she completely understood. Looking down at her desk again, she picked up a piece of paper and examined it. "Elizabeth, you signed the consent form for your aunt to adopt you even though you'll be eighteen in a few months."

"Yes, Your Honor," Lizzie replied.

"Why?" The judge shifted her gaze from the paper to the teen.

"Because Uncle Chuck and Aunt Sarah are my parents. I want them both to be, legally, when I'm eighteen and when I'm eighty. No one is ever too old to not need their parents." There wasn't an iota of uncertainty in the teen's demeanor.

Judge Dwyer's eyebrows rose and a small smile quirked on her lips. "Excellent answer, young lady." She set the paper off to the side and picked up another from the stack before her. "Fredrick, stand up please."

Sarah could practically hear the gulp her nephew made before he jumped to his feet and stood with his shoulders back. "Sorry, Your Honor," he said, the chagrin clear in his voice.

"No, I'm sorry, Fred," she said with a chuckle. "I didn't mean it like that. I just wanted to see how tall you are now."

He grinned and stretched proudly to his full height.

"You're not quite as tall as your uncle, but I bet you will be pretty soon." After a brief pause, she continued, "You signed the consent form as well. Do you have any reservations at all about your aunt becoming your legal parent? You understand that from now on, for all intents and purposes, she will be your mother."

Fred shrugged and stuffed his hands in his front pockets. "She already is and she's awesome. Why not just make it official, you know? If Uncle Chuck's already our legal dad, why not make Aunt Sarah our legal mom? I mean since they're married and stuff."

"They actually haven't been married very long, less than a year."

Fred actually snorted. "What? Like she's gonna up and leave or something? Yeah, not gonna happen."

Chuck had warned Sarah that the judge would likely speak with the kids and ask them questions about her. At first, the idea that anyone, even a judge, would question her commitment to Chuck and the kids aggravated her. But she understood why it was necessary and her irritation subsided when, despite the solemnity with which the judge was conducting the hearing, Sarah noticed a vague twinkle in the other woman's eye after Fred's answer. The knot in her stomach began to loosen.

Judge Dwyer smiled. "Duly noted. Thank you, Fred. You can have a seat."

He flopped down in his chair and blew out a breath.

From the way Lisa gazed up at the judge, it was clear she knew she was next. Head held high and eyes looking forward, she was ready.

"Lisa, I hardly recognize you. Last time I saw you, you were still having a hard time with… everything. I'm glad to see you're doing so much better."

"Thank you. Me, too."

"Can you tell me why you signed the consent form?"

"Because Aunt Sarah wants to me to be her kid, always, no matter what. I want that, too."

The judge's head snapped back at the palpable emotion heard in Lisa's voice. "Passionately and succinctly put, Lisa."

Lisa looked over at Sarah, who smiled softly back at her niece. Tears pricked at her eyes when Lisa, her face shining with confidence, added, "It's true."

The room fell silent as the judge kept her focus on Lisa. After a moment, she nodded, shifted in her chair and cleared her throat. "Thank you, Lisa."

Next was Curtis. Sarah peeked over at him and her heart absolutely melted. He'd tried so hard to keep his clothes tidy for their big day, but had failed miserably. His tie was crooked, his shirt was untucked and one of its buttons was undone. His hair was a mess and one of his shoes was untied. And Sarah adored it all. Clearly, the judge did too, because when she turned her attention on him, a huge smile spontaneously bloomed.

"Tell me, Curtis, how do you feel about having another female in your house? You, your brother and your uncle are heavily outnumbered."

He pushed himself up higher in his chair with his elbows. "Aw, that's okay. Aunt Sarah's really cool. She watches the Broncos with me and we play football sometimes. She's also great at video games and drives a Porsche."

Laughter floated through the room, the loudest of which came from Judge Dwyer. "A ringing endorsement if I ever heard one. Thank you, Curtis. How about you, Bridget? How do you feel about being adopted by your aunt?"

"I'm excited. I love having a mom again, especially since it's Aunt Sarah."

The judge's face softened. "I'm sure you do. What do you think of it, Martha?"

Martie wiggled to sit up straighter in her chair and said, "I love Aunt Sarah a lot and I'm glad I get to have her as my mom. I've never really had one before since I don't remember our mom at all."

Megan had long since put her notepad and pen on the table and had been listening attentively to her siblings. When she heard what her sister had just said, she nodded her head in enthusiastic agreement. "Me and Martie are the same. We don't remember her at all. But Aunt Sarah's the best. She reads to us and plays Spy Barbie with us and is always happy to see us when she picks us up at school."

"Did you say 'Spy Barbie,' Megan?" the judge asked. Up and down the row, eyes widened. Before the hearing, Chuck and Sarah had reminded the kids not to mention Sarah's real occupation. And as mature Megan seemed at times, she still was only six.

"Mm-hmm. I've been playing Spy Barbie since I was little." Sarah glanced over at Judge Dwyer and saw that she had rolled her lips back and pressed them between her teeth to hide a smile. "And Aunt Sarah plays it with me. She's a really good spy." Martie nodded at her sister's pronouncement.

Judge Dwyer chuckled, obviously delighted by the two littlest girls. "I'm sure she is."

Sarah breathed a silent word of thanks when it was clear that she had taken Megan's comment about her excellence as spy in the context of Spy Barbie and not as an actual government agent.

"Mr. Bartowski, you seem to have a few more people with you this time than the last time you were here." The judge's gaze swept over the people in the rows of chairs behind the family. "I do recognize a couple of people, though."

Chuck stood and said, "Yes, that's right. Our cook, Mrs. Smith, and my friend, Morgan Grimes, were here last time." Both smiled and acknowledged the judge with quick waves.

"Are the rest friends and family of yours, Mrs. Bartowski?"

Sarah rose from her chair as well and turned to look at the group behind her. Casey, Carina, Barstow, Vegas, Cole and Barker were all there to support her and celebrate with her and her family. All of their faces wore smiles, although Carina's had a little more smirk to it than the rest. "Friends that are like family, Your Honor," she answered, feeling a sudden surge of emotion.

"Which is oftentimes much better than blood relatives," the judge said with emphasis. She surveyed the room and said, "I don't see the children's grandparents here this time."

"The Woodcombs are out of the country right now and couldn't be here today," Chuck said. "But I would like to introduce you to their other grandparents, Stephen and Mary Bartowski."

Judge Dwyer's head jerked toward Chuck's parents as they stood. "This is a surprise. At the hearing a couple of years ago, I was under the impression they were completely out of the picture."

"My husband and I regret the time we had to spend apart from our family," Mary said. "But that's all changed and we're here for good."

Sarah hoped the judge wouldn't ask for elaboration on why they'd been estranged from Chuck and the kids. But since they weren't the ones petitioning for adoption, she must have decided to let it go when she merely stated, "I'm glad to hear that. You must be quite proud of your son and the fine job he's done raising these children. And now raising them with his wife."

Stephen smiled. "We are. And we couldn't be happier that Sarah is part of the family."

"I have no doubt about that. Thank you, Bartowski grandparents. You can have a seat, as can you, Mr. Bartowski." Judge Dwyer turned her attention, fully and completely, on Sarah. As an agent of the CIA, she'd faced dictators and warlords, drug lords and evil cabals. And yet standing under the gaze of a fortyish year-old judge in the Eagle County, Colorado courthouse caused a bead of nervous sweat to trickle down the center of her back.

"Mrs. Bartowski, it has been made abundantly clear to me here today that you love these children and they love you. It is also clear that you and your husband have built for them a stable and loving home. Do you promise to maintain this caring and secure environment?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

The judge smiled. "I'm sure you will. I just have to ask." She gave Sarah a knowing look. "The simple fact that you had a notepad and pen in your purse at the ready to help keep a bored child busy… That told me everything I needed to know."

For the first time all day, Sarah was able to take a breath deep enough to completely fill her lungs.

"As a family court judge, I have a lot of really difficult situations come through my courtroom. Thankfully, there are families in this world like yours that give me hope. And despite the tragic circumstances that changed the course of the lives of these children forever, it is the love of you, your husband and everyone in this courtroom that has helped them become the wonderful, thriving, well-adjusted young people they are today. You are to be commended." She sat up straighter and said, "That is why it is with no reservations the Court finds it to be in the best interests of these children that the adoptions be granted and that they each now, henceforth, have a parent and child relationship with Sarah Bartowski." She rapped her gavel on the bench once and with a happy smile ended with, "Congratulations."

Sarah blew out a relieved breath. "Thank you, Your Honor." She smiled at the kids stretched down the row and received seven beaming smiles in return. Then, one by one, each child went up to the judge's bench and watched her sign his or her Final Decree of Adoption. Once the official proceedings were complete, there were plenty of handshakes and hugs, and lots of pictures taken with the judge.

Sarah was in the process of checking the floor under and around the chairs where the kids had been sitting to ensure nothing was left behind when Judge Dwyer walked up to her. "You're a lucky woman," she said, shaking Sarah's hand. The judge dipped her chin and with a meaningful look, added, "But you already know that."

"Yes, I do," she replied. Sarah glanced over at Chuck, grinning and laughing with their kids as they readied to go back to the house for the celebration. "The luckiest."

~ O ~

From the number of cars parked in front of their house, Sarah knew they were the last group to arrive after the hearing. It was just as well, since they'd told the kids they couldn't eat until everyone was there. Now they wouldn't have to wait.

Apparently, the kids had realized the significance of the cars out front, too. Chuck had barely shut off the van's engine after pulling it into the garage when the side door slid open and the kids began to tumble out. Like a shot, the boys were through the door that led into the house with the girls hot on their heels.

"Food or clothes first?" Chuck asked.

"Clothes, definitely," Sarah answered, slamming the passenger door shut before pulling the van's side door closed.

"You think? All the way home, they talked nonstop about all the food Mrs. Smith has been making for the last two days."

He opened the door into the house, and as she scooted past him, she said, "Yes, but do you think the boys are going to want to eat in their good clothes? They both had their ties off before we even got to the van."

"That's true," he replied as he stepped into the house behind her.

She turned and caught him between her body and the door that had just closed behind them. "Speaking of ties." Reaching up, she tugged at the knot of his tie to loosen it a little and then undid the button of his collar. "There. A little more comfortable for you, too."

"I was kinda hoping you'd do more than just loosen my tie. Maybe take it off completely?" he said and rested his hands on her hips. "Along with everything else?" He smiled one of his smiles that made her knees go wobbly.

With a coy look, she drawled, "Why, Mr. Bartowski. Propositioning me with a houseful of guests?"

His eyelids lowered as he gazed down at her. "Mrs. Bartowski, I'd proposition you with a houseful of popes."

Laughing, she said, "Now _that_ I'd like to see." She grabbed his tie, pulled his head down and caught his lips in a heated kiss.

Carina's voice came from down the hall and interrupted their private moment. "I'll know the apocalypse has come when I walk around a corner in this house and find you two _not _making out."

"May it never be," Chuck intoned solemnly. He took Sarah's hand and the two walked toward Carina and Scott standing at the bottom of the stairs.

The familiar rumble that came from the staircase made them stop and wait while Carina and Scott stepped back. "It's like sitting at a railroad crossing, waiting for the train to barrel through," Chuck said.

As if to make Chuck's point, from above Fred shouted, "Comin' through!" bounded down the last few steps and ran past them. Like a herd, the rest of the kids followed their brother and stampeded across the living room, bolted out the door and scrambled down the stairs that led to the backyard.

"Told you," Sarah said to her husband with mock superiority. As the kids flashed past, she noticed they had all changed into jeans, casual tops and t-shirts. It was the third week of September and the weather was already cool, so everyone's summer clothes had been stored away.

"Sure, you're their legal parent for an hour and you're already a ninja," Chuck said with a wink.

"What can I say, I'm a fast learner." She slipped off the jacket of the new business suit she'd bought for the occasion and draped it over the bannister.

"Honey, if you want to go change and get comfortable like the kids, I'm sure no one will care."

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to take my jacket off. I will lose the shoes, though," she said, kicking off her pumps. "Otherwise, in these heels, I'll spend the rest of the afternoon aerating the lawn."

The foursome crossed the living room and went down the steps to the backyard. Mrs. Smith—who had slipped away as soon as the gavel had banged—had put out all of the food on the two tables they'd set up on the grass. One was covered with enough snack food to feed an army, while the other held a sheet cake and a large pitcher of lemonade. Two ice chests sat on the grass next to each table, one filled with a variety of beers and the other with bottles of water and cans of soda.

The kids—and Morgan—swarmed around the snack table, loading food onto their paper plates. The adults stood around and watched with amusement while sipping their drinks.

Sarah headed straight for the snack table and grabbed a plate.

"Get some of the chicken wings, Aunt Sarah," Lizzie said. "I helped Mrs. Smith make them."

"Gross," Curtis groaned. "I guess I'm gonna have to put mine back."

"Thank you, Lizzie. I would love to have some of your wings." Sarah piled several on her plate, eliciting a pleased smile from her eldest. Standing next to Curtis, she glanced down at his plate and noticed the wings were still there. With a gentle hip check, she said to him in teasing tone, "I thought you were going to put yours back."

"I, uh, decided that since _you_ were gonna eat them, I could, too."

"Uh-huh," Sarah intoned. "That's very big of you." Joining the wings on her plate were carrot sticks, grapes, some cocktail meatballs and a couple of the stuffed mushrooms she'd been looking forward to eating for two days.

Lisa looked at Sarah's plate and laughed. "You a little hungry, Aunt Sarah?"

"You could say that. My nerves about the hearing kept me from feeling like eating much today. Now that it's all over, I'm starving." She cut her eyes over at her niece's plate piled high with food. "You're one to talk."

"I'm a growing teenager," she responded primly.

Sarah chuckled. "Touché."

Plates now laden with goodies, the kids sat on the grass and got down to the business of serious eating. Sarah wandered over to join Chuck and the rest of the adults, standing in a circle and chatting.

Casey eyed her plate of food. "The way you and the kids are chowing down, I guess I better hustle if I want any of that grub."

"You'd better, Colonel," Sarah said. She noticed the smile quirk at the corners of his mouth. "Feels pretty good, doesn't it?"

"It's only lieutenant colonel," he replied. She smiled when he stood a little straighter and ran a hand over the camouflage necktie with the large Marine Corps insignia the kids had given him to commemorate the anniversary of his arrival in Beaver Creek. "And yeah, it kinda does."

"You deserve it," she said. Every head around the circle nodded in agreement.

"Thanks," he said, now clearly uncomfortable that the attention had fallen on him. Hitching his thumb over his shoulder, he announced, "I'm gonna grab some chow." He spun on his heel and headed for the food table.

Sarah took a bite of the stuffed mushroom and cooed a happy, yummy noise. Chuck snagged a grape from her plate and popped it in his mouth. "So, Carina. How's dismantling Benoit's and Nazari's drug syndicate going?"

"Well, you know," she said with a casual shrug, "getting the names from Benoit's laptop helped—"

"Thanks to my wonderful husband and his decryption program," Sarah said, unabashedly interrupting her friend. She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed Chuck's cheek.

Carina rolled her eyes. "Yes, thanks to your egghead husband." She snorted when Sarah kissed Chuck again and then continued. "Anyway, the geopolitics in that region of the world tends to slow things down. We're doing our best."

"Where are you off to next, Carina?" Morgan asked and then lifted a chicken wing to his mouth. Sarah noticed how he tried to sound nonchalant when he asked his question. But there, once again, she saw the telltale sheen of perspiration that sprang up on the bearded guy's forehead any time he spoke to the redhead.

"Well, Martin, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Mid-bite, Morgan stilled and his eyes grew round. When the rest of the group laughed, he relaxed and tugged the meat off the bone. Apparently, deciding to head for safer conversational waters, he turned to Stephen and Mary. "So, Mr. and Mrs. B. How's it feel to be back in the good ol' US of A?"

"It's wonderful, Morgan. I feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming." Mary shook her head as if she still couldn't believe it. "We've been back for such a short time, though, so we're still trying to adjust. So many things have changed."

"Are you settling into Colorado Springs, okay?" Scott asked before he took a pull from his beer.

"We are," Stephen answered. "We're looking forward to getting back to work. It was nice of Director Graham to set it up so we can work in one of the facilities in the area."

In fact, when Graham heard about some of the devices Stephen had been tinkering with over the years, he jumped at the chance to get him back to work for the government. Graham also was highly motivated to put to use Mary's vast intelligence knowledge and experience. So, a deal was struck where they would both work at the Cheyenne Mountain complex, the huge, Cold War era nuclear bunker built inside a mountain that was home to, among other things, NORAD's Alternative Command Center.

While Sarah was pretty sure almost everyone standing there knew which facility it was he spoke of, when he didn't elaborate, they didn't ask. Instead, everyone remained mute and heads simply nodded.

"We're only two and a half hours away, which means we can be close to Chuck and Sarah and the kids, but not so close that we'll be disrupting their lives," Mary added.

"Now Mary, you know we would never consider you as disruptive," Sarah said, good-naturedly scolding her mother-in-law. In fact, she and Chuck had offered to have his parents stay with them while they looked for a place to live in Beaver Creek, but they'd refused. Chuck's disappointment had been obvious at first, but it disappeared when Sarah explained to him his parents would need some time and space to adjust to the recent and massive upheaval in their lives. As it turned out, it didn't seem that Chuck's parents not residing in Beaver Creek was going to be an issue in terms of them visiting the family. Stephen and Mary had only been living in Colorado Springs for a little over two weeks and this was already the third time they'd been to the house.

Mary chuckled. "Yes, we know. We also know newlyweds should not have parents live with them." It was then that Stephen excused himself and went into the house. A few minutes later, he and Mrs. Smith—sporting wide grins—each carried a tray of tall, slim flutes filled with a bubbly liquid. As the two approached, Mary said, "I hope you don't mind, but Stephen and I thought this momentous day called for champagne."

"Thank you, Mom and Dad," Chuck said, and picked up one of the glasses. "You're absolutely right." To the kids he shouted, "Hey, you guys. Come here for a minute and bring your drinks. I want to make a toast."

Buzzing with excitement to be included in whatever the adults were doing, they jumped up and ran over to join them. Sarah set her plate on the table behind her and picked up a glass from Mrs. Smith's tray.

When Chuck cleared his throat, all eyes fell on him. "My and these kids' world shattered five years ago. The crater that tragic day left was so big, it felt like none of us would ever be truly happy again. But, as a family, we hung in there and over time it got better." He smiled and looked at the kids. "And we were happy." Bouncing his head from side to side, his smile widened and added, "Ish."

The kids chuckled and through her blur of tears, Sarah saw their smiles and nods.

"And then one day, a little over a year ago, an astounding woman entered our lives and turned us upside down."

"For the better," Lizzie clarified.

Chuck smirked and dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, Lizzie. Definitely for the better." After he switched the glass to his other hand and took Sarah's in his now free one, he continued. "She became a member of our family and brought people into our lives that are a part of it now, too." Then, he smiled at his parents. "And we recently found family that was lost."

Stephen swiped at his eyes while Mary kept hers riveted on her son.

"We've been through a lot this past year," Chuck continued. "Most of it's been great. Some of it, not so much."

Sarah's eyes were immediately drawn to the recently rebuilt gazebo that replaced the one destroyed by the fire the previous spring.

"No matter what came our way, we faced it together, as a family. And in the end, we are once again, truly happy." When he raised his glass, all followed suit. "To family."

"To family," everyone said together. After they touched glasses, they all sipped their drinks, except for Sarah, whose champagne remained untouched.

This did not go unnoticed by Carina, who narrowed her eyes at her. "You didn't drink any champagne, Sarah."

She huffed a breath and rolled her eyes. "You're never going to stop with that, are you?"

"No. It's too much fun to torment you. And I'm going to keep at it until you either start drinking again or tell us that—" When Sarah smirked and raised an eyebrow, Carina's words ground to a sudden stop. Her friend's eyes grew comically wide and Sarah couldn't help but snicker.

After a silent conversation between Sarah and her husband that consisted entirely of a raised eyebrow, a wink, two bouncing eyebrows and a smile, Chuck said, "We, uh, have another announcement to make and this seems to be as a good a time as any." He turned his face toward her and squeezed her hand encouragingly. "Sarah?"

Sarah's smile was as soft as her voice. "Chuck and I are going to have a baby."

The split second of stunned silence was quickly overcome by a burst of cheers and shouts, and a round of hugs and kisses, smiles and tears, handshakes and then more hugs.

Lizzie's face was positively beaming with joy when she threw her arms around Sarah and gave her a tight hug. "Congratulations," she said near Sarah's ear. "I'm so happy for you both, for all of us. I can barely stand it."

"Me, too."

Sarah had scarcely stepped back from the hug when she found herself embraced by Lisa. After murmured whispers of congratulations, Lisa released her and took one of Sarah's hands. Lizzie grabbed the other and the two girls tugged her away from the rest of the group for a private conference. The three now standing together, the sisters peered at each other and then at Sarah. "Lisa and I kind of have a confession to make."

When Sarah's eyebrows shot up in surprise, Lisa blurted, "We didn't do anything wrong. It's just that we…" she looked to her sister.

"We kinda already figured out you were pregnant." Lizzie's blue eyes flashed with excitement.

"We?" Sarah said. "Who's we? Did all you kids know?"

Nose scrunched, Lisa shook her head. "Oh, no. Just us two. We never said anything to anybody else."

"When? How did you—?" Sarah sputtered.

"We started to notice it soon after we got home from Europe. You weren't getting out of bed until about the same time that Lisa and Fred and I were, which was weird because you're usually up way earlier than us."

Lisa nodded. "Especially in the summer when we all sleep later. And once you were up, you didn't look like you felt very good, either. You looked kinda pale a lot."

"And you didn't drink coffee anymore. I even asked you if you were okay and you said you were still adjusting to coming back from Europe," Lizzie said.

Tag-teaming their conversation, Lisa continued, "Which was really strange because you've always said you never had a much of a problem with jet lag."

"So when it didn't go away after a couple more weeks, we guessed you might pregnant." With a smirk, Lizzie added, "All the saltine crackers you ate were also kind of a giveaway."

Lisa grinned at her aunt and said, "Tell us when you figured it out."

Sarah beamed back at her and was surprised at how excited she was to talk to the girls about it. She and Chuck had talked, obviously, but it was thrilling to relate everything, finally, to them.

"I started to wonder what was going on about the same time you did because I wasn't exactly bouncing back from our trip like I expected I would. I was just so tired all the time and my injury wasn't severe enough to cause that. Then it suddenly hit me. I did a home pregnancy test." She raised a shoulder and let it drop. "And it was positive."

"Eeeeeeee!" the two girls squealed together.

Their peals of happiness apparently caught Carina's attention, prompting her to hurry over and join them. "What'd I miss? I want the lowdown, Sarah. How long have you been pregnant, exactly?"

"Exactly? Twelve weeks."

"Three months?" Carina's mouth dropped open and then her face morphed into a scowl. "Hang on a minute. When we were in Monaco, just before we went to play poker with Benoit you were moaning and groaning to me about how you _knew_ you weren't pregnant. And that was only _two_ months ago."

"I did not moan and groan."

Carina rolled her eyes. "You did too, but whatever." Nostrils flaring, she growled, "You lied to me."

Sarah felt a spurt of irritation. "I did _not_ lie to you. I was wrong, that's all."

"How can you be wrong about that?" the redhead asked, squinting at her.

"You don't want to know."

"I do. And the girls do, too. Don't you?"

Eyes wide with anticipation, Lizzie and Lisa nodded their heads eagerly.

"Turning my own girls against me? That's low, Carina," she said with a smirk. "Fine. I'll tell you, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"Just spill," Carina grumbled.

"When the fertilized egg burrows into the uterine lining, it can cause some of it to slough away. That's called 'implantation bleeding.' It happens to a lot of women." She shrugged. "And it happened to me in Monaco." Laughing at the face Carina pulled when she uttered the words "fertilized egg," Sarah said, "I told you you wouldn't want to know."

The girls, on the other hand, were clearly spellbound. "That is so cool," Lisa breathed. "We learned about the uterine lining and all that stuff in biology last year when we studied reproduction."

"Yeah," Lizzie said, her voice filled with excitement. "I remember that, too, and how they think morning sickness is worse at the beginning of a pregnancy because that's when the level of one of the hormones goes through the roof."

Carina, more interested in specific details than a biology lesson, gave Sarah a sly look. "So tell us, Sarah. Are you and Chuckie going to be one of those couples and name your little nerdling after where he was conceived?"

"Okay!" Lisa yelped, her face conveying her sudden discomfort with where the conversation had veered. "I think I'm gonna go get something… over there."

"I'll go with you," her sister said, her words rushing out. The two took off, practically leaving a blazing track of flames in the grass behind them.

Watching the girls hightail it away, Sarah said, "Boy, Carina. You sure know how to clear out a room."

Carina snorted and waved her hand. "They'll probably come ask me about it later." She raised an eyebrow and asked in a low tone, "So, will it be little Amsterdam? Paris? Baby Berlin? A name like Moscow would be edgy."

After pausing a beat to build up the anticipation, Sarah matched her friend's crooked eyebrow. "Prague."

Carina's eyes flashed with glee. "Ah, little Prague Bartowski. It just rolls off the tongue." Her head nodded sagely with approval. "I've found Prague to be quite the fun town, too." Sarah didn't miss the way her eyes flicked over to Casey. When Carina's gaze fell on her again, it was with a look of suspicion. "You and Casey were kidnapped in Prague. When did you and Chuckie find the time to get busy?"

"You're always so romantic, Carina."

"Quit stalling," the redhead said, rolling her eyes.

Sarah blew out a good-natured sigh. "It was after Chuck and Scott rescued us from the basement of the Strahov monastery library."

"And as a reward for saving you, you hauled Chuckie off to a corner and did it right there in a monastery library?" Carina gaped at her and feigning utter shock, huffed, "What would the nuns say? What would the _librarians_ say?"

Sarah laughed out loud. Her friend really was the best. "No, not in the library, although at one point during the rescue, Chuck decked a librarian."

"Really? I'm impressed. They can be tougher than they look."

Sarah thought back to the man who chased them out of the monastery. "No kidding." Shaking off the memory, she continued. "Anyway, it was later that evening and that's all you get to know about that."

Chuck walked up to them and from behind, slipped his arms around his wife's waist and placed his hands on her still small, but ever growing, baby bump. "All she gets to know about what?"

Sarah settled her hands on top of his and tilted her head back. Resting it against his shoulder, she gazed up into his face. "Carina thinks we should name the baby Prague."

She felt him jerk and watched a blush engulf his entire face. Rising up on her toes, she kissed his jaw. "You're adorable," she purred.

"Oh my God," Carina said, her eyes round and staring straight at Sarah in genuine disbelief. There was no teasing in her voice when she declared, "You're _literally_ barefoot and pregnant."

Leaning forward, she glanced down at her feet and then up at her friend. "Huh. I guess I am."

The laughter in Chuck's chest vibrated against her back. "I don't think I've ever seen you this discombobulated before, Carina."

"That's because Sarah Walker is _actually_ pregnant."

"No, Sarah Bartowski is actually pregnant," she sighed. "And it shouldn't be that big of a shock to you. It's not like I up and joined a convent."

"What is it with you and nuns, anyway," Carina asked warily.

"Never mind," Chuck answered for her. "And no more hogging my wife." He lowered his head and kissed her cheek. Releasing her from his embrace, he took her hand and started them toward the rest of the guests. "There are others that want to talk to her, too."

Everyone, including the kids, looked at her, eager to gain more intel on the baby, including Curtis who asked, "Aunt Sarah, do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"No, we haven't had an ultrasound yet, although we did hear the baby's heartbeat when we went to the doctor a couple days ago." Hearing that pulsing, whooshing sound had brought tears to her eyes. Chuck had stood next to her as she'd reclined on the doctor's table, gripping her hand and grinning like she'd never seen before.

"Amy says congratulations on the baby," Fred informed them.

Sarah's eyebrows shot up. "How does Amy…?" Tilting her head, she asked with an amused smile, "You texted her already, didn't you?"

The impish smile that formed was his only response.

Martie looked up at Sarah and said, "You don't look like you're gonna have a baby, at least not like some of the moms I've seen at school. They're big."

Sarah snickered and answered, "I'm sure I'll get there, kiddo, but it's a little too soon yet for me to look like them." With a smile at Bridget, she added, "And I know just the young lady to take shopping with me when it's time to buy some fashionable maternity clothes."

Bridget's face lit up and she clapped her hands. "I can't wait."

"I don't think we'll have to wait too much longer," Sarah replied. "There's a reason I bought a new suit for today, and not just because I wanted to look nice for the hearing. Nothing in my closet fits."

Next to her, Chuck made a funny little snorting cough at the mention of her ill-fitting clothes. One morning the week before, she'd stood in their closet in only her bra and panties, trying to figure out something to wear. Chuck had walked in and stood gaping at her with his jaw dropped and tongue hanging out like a hormonal teenager. When she checked herself the mirror, her eyes had nearly popped out of her head when she saw herself spilling out over the top of her bra. He'd laughed when her surprise morphed into approval. And when her face had taken on a sultry smolder, it was quite some time before she once again stood in her closet to survey her clothes.

Stephen's grin hadn't subsided since Sarah had announced their news. "What's your due date?" he asked, pulling her back from her happy memory.

"March eighteenth," Chuck said with a wide smile.

"Have you informed the Agency?" Mary asked.

Sarah shook her head. "I will tomorrow. We didn't want to tell anyone until we were past the first trimester. The doctor said everything looks great, so we felt safe to announce it."

Concern still lurked in Mary's eyes. "Are you going continue working?"

"Sure, if they want me to do desk work like intel analysis, developing mission specs, stuff like that. I won't go on any missions or do any field work, though, which of course is a no-brainer while I'm pregnant and on maternity leave." She paused for a moment and then revealed, "I talked to Chuck about me retiring from the field for good."

That comment caused heads to snap back in surprise. "What did you think of that, son?" Stephen asked.

"Sarah and I had a similar conversation after she and Casey were kidnapped in Prague." Both Stephen and Mary grimaced—while Carina snickered—at Chuck's utterance of the word, "Prague." Ignoring the various reactions, Chuck continued. "I reminded her then and now that she loves being a spy."

"And I replied then and now that I love him and the kids more," Sarah responded. "When we talked in Prague, it surprised me at how easy it was for me to say, 'Maybe I should quit being a spy.'" She lifted and lowered a shoulder. "Now it's no surprise at all. I want to focus on our family. And my wonderful husband is very supportive of my choice." She had the feeling he'd tried to appear neutral when she told him of her decision, but he wasn't able to hide—at least from her—the relief written all over his face. "It's time," she finished.

During the announcement of her retirement, Sarah noticed Mary's entire demeanor relax. She understood Mary's concern; that she would make the same mistakes her mother-in-law had. It was actually the opposite. She'd learned from Mary's mistakes and would do everything in her power not to repeat them.

"Aw, no more missions together, Sarah?" Carina said with a pout. "No more adventures?"

"Trust me, Carina. Whenever you're in town, you and I will always have some kind of adventure, even when we're looking for one or not." Smirking, she raised an eyebrow and said, "Or need I remind you of 'The Rusty Spittoon Incident'?"

Everyone except for Stephen and Mary chuckled while Carina tossed her hair and said in a breezy tone, "You're right. I'm a party everywhere I go."

Sarah was about to respond to the redhead when she felt a tug on her hand. Looking down, she saw Martie gazing up at her. "Aunt Sarah, even if you're not a spy anymore, will you still play Spy Barbie with Megan and me?"

"Of course," she answered without hesitation. "It's one of my favorite things."

"With Chuck still working for the Agency, though, what about his and the kids' protection?" Stephen asked.

"With Fulcrum mostly dismantled and Benoit dead, the Agency was planning on pulling our security detail and have me be their only protection. But now that I'm pregnant, I'm sure they'll have the detail remain in place."

The relief Sarah felt from Chuck's parents was palpable. Apparently feeling like it was time to change the subject, Chuck asked in a loud voice, "Who wants cake?"

Shouts of, "I do!" came from the kids. They ran over to the table to watch Mrs. Smith cut the cake.

Their backs to the house, Chuck and Sarah were about to turn and start toward the table when Casey stepped in front of them. Clearly nervous, he shifted from one foot to the other. "You know I'm not real comfortable with feelings and crap," Casey started.

Sarah was expecting a quip from Chuck, but was pleased when one didn't come. He must have realized, as she did, it was clearly the wrong time to try to joke around.

"I just wanted to say congratulations to you, Sarah, on the adoption thing today. Those kids deserve it and so do you. And congrats on the baby, too. I know you'll be great parents to the baby 'cause you're already great parents to the kids."

She swallowed down the lump in her throat. Stepping forward, she rose up and kissed Casey's cheek. "Thank you, John." Chuck echoed her thanks and shook the big man's hand.

Concern still on his face, he asked, "Were you already pregnant when you were shot and everything went down in Monaco?"

"Mm-hmm. My arm healed up fast with no problems and I didn't really do much physically when we apprehended Benoit other than run around a little, shoot my gun and drive a boat."

"Are you sure everything's okay with the baby? You did tackle Graham when Zuyev shot at us," Casey reminded her.

With a sly smile, she said, "Don't repeat this to anyone, but it was a pretty cushy landing."

He snorted his understanding and nodded, obviously relieved to hear her assurances. "It's been an honor working with you. Both of you."

"You, too, John," Sarah said. A terrible thought suddenly struck. "You're not planning on giving up your condo here in Beaver Creek because I'm retiring from the field, are you?"

"Nah. Nothing's gonna change. Somebody's gotta keep an extra set of eyes on those kids of yours. Besides, I already promised I'd teach Fred how to drive."

"For which you deserve combat pay, my good man," Chuck intoned.

His blue eyes were piercing when he looked first at Chuck and then at Sarah. "You need anything, you let me know."

"Don't worry," Chuck said. "We will. We know you've always got our backs, Colonel."

Casey's chin jutted out. "Damn straight, Bartowski." His eyes darted and focused on something behind them. "I think there's somebody who needs something right now."

Sarah turned around. "Uh-oh," she breathed. Megan sat by herself on the bottom step of the stairs that led up to the house. The little girl's elbows rested on her knees and her fists on her cheeks squished her face, making her appear more despondent than Sarah had ever seen. She didn't need a degree in child psychology to know what the problem was.

"You want me to talk to her?" Chuck asked.

"No, sweetheart. Thank you, but I think right now she and I need to talk alone." She gave Chuck a quick kiss on the lips, patted Casey's arm with her hand and went off toward one of the tables. She picked up a plate of cake in each hand and walked to where Megan sat. Standing in front her niece, Sarah held out one of the plates and said, "I brought you a piece of cake."

When her niece tipped her face up, the forlorn look in Megan's eyes nearly ripped Sarah's heart out. She had a feeling the announcement about the new arrival would be hard on the girl who had always been the baby of the family. She was right. "I'm not hungry," Megan said, her face completely crestfallen.

"Okay. Do you mind if I sit down with you and eat mine?" Megan shook her head and scooted over to make room.

Sarah set Megan's piece on the step behind her and took her fork in her hand. She heaved a sigh and poked at the cake with the pointy tines. "You want to talk about it?"

Megan, staring at an indiscriminate point in the grass in front of her, shook her head.

"Do you mind if I talk a little?"

A shoulder went up and then dropped.

"When the baby comes, it's going to be different for all of us. You're not going to be the baby of the family anymore. But that means you get to be a big sister. You can be the one to teach him or her about how to be a junior spy and all that."

"Oh, I know the baby will need me to teach it all that," Megan said as if it were perfectly obvious. "Babies don't know stuff and have to be taught."

"Why are you so sad, then?"

"Because the baby is gonna be yours and Uncle Chuck's. You're gonna love it more than the rest of us because we're not really your kids."

The pang Sarah felt stabbed into her very soul. She set the cake down and put her hand on her niece's back. "Megan, sweetie, that is not true. You really are our kids. Every single one of you."

"But Mom and Dad had us, not you and Uncle Chuck."

"No, we didn't. But that doesn't mean we'll love you any differently than the ones he and I will have together."

Megan stared ahead, clearly unconvinced.

"That's what the adoptions were about today, Megan. It means I love you, your brothers and your sisters so much, I want to take care of you and them just the same as if I'd given birth to you all myself."

The little girl's head lifted a little. "Curtis said the baby will be our cousin and not our brother or sister."

"Your brother is wrong."

Megan's face turned toward her. "But…"

"Okay, he might be technically right if we're just talking biology."

"Huh?"

"Which baby came out of which mom."

"Oh."

"But that's not what's important. You might still call us Uncle Chuck and Aunt Sarah and we might still tell people you're our nieces and nephews because we don't want you or them to ever forget Devon and Ellie Woodcomb. But whatever we call each other, you'll always be my daughter."

She slipped an arm around Megan's shoulders when Megan leaned against her and wrapped her arms around Sarah's waist. Holding the little girl close, they sat together in silence, mother and daughter. After a time, Megan asked in a small voice, "Do I really get to teach my new brother or sister about spying and stuff?"

A smile grew on Sarah's face. "You bet you do, although you'll have to be patient. It'll be at least a couple of years before he or she will be ready to learn from the junior agent and tiny ninja master."

"In a couple of years I won't be tiny anymore. I'll be a big kid."

Chuckling, Sarah said, "Yes, I guess you will."

Lifting her head from Sarah's chest, Megan looked up at her and asked, "Can I have some cake now?"

"Absolutely," Sarah answered and kissed her forehead. "I think it's time for you, me _and_ the baby to have some cake."

~ O ~

The sun had set and the party had moved to inside the house. The sound of gunfire and explosions blasted from the TV room where a mixture of kids and adults played video games. The rest chatted in the living room or grazed on the leftover food set out on the kitchen counters.

Sarah, now dressed in stretchy yoga pants and a loose sweater, sat on the couch, her eyes following Chuck as he came from the kitchen and made a beeline for her. When he reached her, without a word, he smiled down at her and held out his hand. Smiling back and without question, she took it. He helped her stand, led her out the door to the backyard and down the stairs.

Above them, a blanket of stars sparkled in the dark, late summer sky as they strolled, arms around each other, toward the recently rebuilt gazebo. The evening air was brisk and now that she was pregnant, her body seemed to always be running a little warmer than normal, so the cool grass felt like heaven on the soles of her bare feet.

They were about halfway across the yard when hundreds of twinkle lights strung all over the gazebo suddenly flickered on, setting it aglow.

"Beautiful," Sarah sighed.

Chuck pulled her closer and kissed her hair. "Yes, you are."

She huffed a laugh and bumped him with her hip. "I meant the lights."

"Oh," he said. "Yeah. The lights." He took his phone from the front pocket of his trousers and wiggled it. "There's an app for that."

"Nerd."

"Your nerd."

She hugged him and said, "Yes, my nerd."

They entered the gazebo together and sat down on a section of the bench. While it smelled new—of paint and pine—it looked the same as the one that had burned. Just outside of the structure, the blackened and fire damaged trees had been cut down and pine tree seedlings had been planted in their stead.

A shiver overtook her when the memories of her and Chuck's special times there flooded her mind. Happy to know this new one evoked such feelings, she nestled into his arms already enveloping her from behind and leaned back against his chest. One of his hands lay lightly on her belly, something he'd done many times before, but now it held so much more significance. His scent surrounded her and in his arms she felt warm and safe and loved.

He rested his cheek against the side of her head and said in a soft voice, "Quite a day, huh?"

She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it through parted lips. "Yeah."

"Do you feel any different? I mean now that you've officially adopted the kids. You realize you're now legally the mother of seven with one more on the way."

She dug her shoulder into his chest. "Thanks for that," she deadpanned. "I was fine until you put it that way. I miss the time when I was just scared. Now I'm terrified."

He jerked and sat forward a little. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean… I was just teasing… You're always so together and…"

"Honey, it's fine. I was just messing with you. Mostly. Truthfully, though, I am a _little_ terrified. I didn't think I'd feel different after the adoptions, but I do. It's kind of like when we got married. I made a commitment to you for the rest of my life. Today, I made a commitment to each of the kids for the rest of my life. It's a big deal."

She felt him relax again. "Do you regret it?"

"No! Not even for a second. It binds us together, makes our relationships stronger." She shrugged. "It makes us a family." She turned her head toward him a little. "How about you? How are you after the baby announcement?"

"Are you kidding? The smartest, bravest, most beautiful woman in the history of everything ever is going to have _my_ baby. I'm the most awesome dude on the planet."

"'The history of everything ever?'"

"You know how I don't like to exaggerate."

"Right," she drawled.

In the stillness, the chirping of crickets filled the night air.

Eventually, he asked, "How are you, now that everyone knows about the baby?"

It was a moment before she answered. "Before we went to the doctor the other day, I thought telling everyone would be the thing that would really make it seem more real. But the second I heard the baby's heartbeat..." Her voice caught and she had to pause. "This new life. I can't wait to meet this little person I'm already in love with."

Her head lifted with his chest when he drew in a deep breath and sighed, "Me, too."

They sat in comfortable silence again, Sarah delicately trailing her fingertips over the back of his hand. After a time, she said, "I've never really been around infants. I guess I should be worried, but I'm not because I know you'll be right there with me."

"I will. And there's no doubt in my mind that you'll be great with our baby. You're Sarah Walker. You're great at everything you do."

"Bartowski."

His arms tightened around her and he snickered. "I'm sure Megan appreciates the correction. And for the record, you're a natural with kids at every age."

"Nope, you're the kid whisperer, not me."

"Come on. I saw how you were with them today. And always. Look at how well you handled our bummed out Little Miss Megan this afternoon."

"I just told her the truth. She's my daughter."

She felt his nod against her head and quiet descended again. As the rhythmic rise and fall of Chuck's chest lulled her, Sarah was imbued with a sense of utter and profound contentment. After a few minutes, he sighed and said, "College applications, a Scottish girlfriend, the CIA, my parents, a new baby. It's a lot. How do you feel about all of it?"

She didn't hesitate when she answered, "I can't picture my life any other way. To tell you the truth, it feels pretty good."

A moment later, with one hand still secure on her belly, he took his phone from his pocket with the other, swiped his thumb across the screen and tapped at it. A woman's rich, blues-infused voice filled the gazebo.

Birds flyin' high, you know how I feel.  
>Sun in the sky, you know how I feel.<br>Breeze driftin' on by, you know how I feel.  
>It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me.<br>Yeah, it's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me, ooooooooh...  
>And I'm feelin' good.<p>

When the piano, horns and drums joined in, adding their driving beat to the song, Sarah sat up and looked at Chuck, her face questioning.

"I had speakers installed. We once talked about making new memories in the new gazebo. I thought speakers might help."

With a small smile, she nodded, leaned in and kissed him. Then she stood, tugged at his hand and said, "Dance with me."

Immediately on his feet, his arms slipped around her waist and held her close. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she melted into him. As one, their feet shuffled slowly as they swayed to the music.

Fish in the sea, you know how I feel.  
>River runnin' free, you know how I feel.<br>Blossom on the tree, you know how I feel.  
>It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me,<br>And I'm feelin' good.

Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know,  
>Butterflies all havin' fun, you know what I mean.<br>Sleep in peace when day is done: that's what I mean,  
>And this old world is a new world and a bold world for me...<p>

Over the singer's voice, Chuck asked, "New memory?"

Leaning back, she gazed into his eyes and whispered, "Yes. Absolutely." When they kissed, her heart nearly burst from the swirl of emotions that overwhelmed her. The tears brimming in her eyes now spilled down her cheeks as the song put her life into words better than her own could ever convey.

Stars when you shine, you know how I feel.  
>Scent of the pine, you know how I feel.<br>Yeah, freedom is mine, and I know how I feel.  
>It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me,<br>And I'm feelin'... good.


End file.
